


All Hearts are Broken

by nadie2



Series: Guardian Mycroft [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, Autistic Mycroft, Bi John Watson, First Relationship, Gay Mycroft Holmes, Gay Sherlock Holmes, Insecure Mycroft, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft raising Sherlock, Teen Sherlock, University Student Mycroft Holmes, bi Greg Lestrade, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 48
Words: 66,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nadie2/pseuds/nadie2
Summary: Mycroft Holmes is in the middle of university when a phone call upheaves his life. It's his baby brother calling to tell him that their little sister has murdered their parents. Mycroft suddenly finds himself trying to raise his traumatized teenage brother while wrestling with his feelings for young Officer Lestrade. Mycroft has always found himself more than a bit out of his depth when it came to sentiment, but now he has no choice but to learn, and quickly.Warnings: The major character deaths are the two people I already told you were dead in the summary. No one else dies.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Guardian Mycroft [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182308
Comments: 117
Kudos: 314





	1. Chapter 1

"What kind of music do you listen to?" the ambassador's son asks. He is clearly just come from secondary school based on his uniform, though he's loosened the tie. Mycroft can't quite deduce the reason behind it. He himself would never be so uncouth as to do something like that in public. Perhaps the other boy felt more at home at the party than he did.

There had been a question, and Mycroft searches back in his memory for it. "Seventeenth-century opera," he replies. A microexpression of disgust covers the boy’s face and then is replaced by a mask of polite interest. Mycroft schools himself to focus and ignores the pricks at the edge of his consciousness. He doesn't need to know that the boy is left-handed, or that his socks don't match, or that he plays the cello, but only when he is angry. "What kind of music do you enjoy?" Mycroft asks back.

There is a Walkman in the other pocket. Whatever his answer may be, it is a core to his identity. Mycroft tries to force himself to listen to the boy’s response.

The boy chuckles. Mycroft hates laughter. In his experience, it is often aimed at him. Usually, he doesn't even know the cause of it, but it is always patronizing. There is nothing like a chuckle to bring him back to the middle of his living room standing awkwardly before his parents saying big words and being laughed at. "I really don't think that my kind of music would be your thing," the boy says.

"I'd still like to hear about it," Mycroft says, almost certain that he has formed his face into a way that won't betray the lie. The boy starts to talk about a punk rock band, and Mycroft tries as hard as he is able to focus on the information. To learn it by rout and retain it, but it, like all things that Mycroft isn't interested in, falls out of his brain like water going through a sieve. Apparently, Mycroft is successful at showing interest in his face, because the boy talks for a full fourteen minutes before he excuses himself to get a drink.

The ambassador’s son has a lower-class girlfriend with purple hair, or perhaps only a purple streak. Mycroft can't tell from a single hair on the back of her neck, and he's never studied such things in order to figure out what statistics in such matters were. It could, of course, be a boy with long hair or even a wig, but Mycroft is confident that it’s a girlfriend simply because of the balance of probabilities.

It's not relevant, Mycroft reminds himself. He is here at this party in order to teach himself to filter out information and to learn to endure the sort of small talk which makes his skin crawl. He looks around the room searching for the next person to try his conversational expertise on.

He will learn to sit with the discomfort, just as he has learned to endure so many other things no less pleasant –boring classrooms, his father’s tight and unexpected hugs, and the moisture of his mother's kiss. He learned to work through group projects by simply taking all of the work from the dullards and doing it himself. He'd also become an expert at persuading people in order to keep them from doing things he couldn’t endure.

Mycroft has already mastered all the forms of conversation which have a clear goal. Only in the last few years has he come to understand that most people seem to need conversation for its own sake. Persuading was easier when you'd greased the wheels with a bit of the familiar, and a certain amount of small talk had to be laid out before you could have the sort of conversations that mattered, that he could actually enjoy. He will learn this skill because he needs it.

Mycroft Holmes had been playing violin for just over a year, dutifully practicing for twice as long as his teacher advised, before the day his baby brother had picked up the instrument and used his three-year-old fingers to elicit the sort of music which makes angels weep. Weep with joy, not agony, like they would if they were listening to Mycroft torture the strings. That's what it was like for Mycroft when it came to social matters. He had to devote hours and years and bloody fingers in order to do the thing which came naturally, effortlessly, to the rest of the planet. Mycroft has always had the awkward feeling that he'd missed the day in primary school when all of this had been explained to the rest of them. Perhaps it was the week his family took him to France.

Mycroft selects an adult for himself next. He's always done better talking to adults than people his own age, and this was still true even as his age has gotten closer and closer to adulthood.

He narrows his eyes on someone whose genius IQ (evidenced by the Plato printed in Greek just peeking out of his coat pocket) and the lack of an official title hints at the fact that this man no doubt holds the sort of unofficial position that Mycroft himself aspires to gain by the time he’s reached this man’s thirty years.

He isn’t the sort of man it’s easy to find a topic to small talk about. There is too great a chance to be considered nosy or poking about something that is classified if he tried to discuss current events. It also was not wise to bring up families as he is very unlikely to have one. He is also unlikely to have more interest in pop culture than Mycroft himself has.

He walks over and begins a discussion on the quality of the food as compared to a function he knows the man was at last week. He maintains this topic for a full five minutes, even when the dancing starts. The music, which most would call quiet and formal, feels like it’s being played upon his skull. Mycroft is relieved when the man's colleague comes over to ‘talk shop’, as it were.

The open garden door calls to him, and he escapes out of it. It's frigid, but if it weren't the garden would probably be too full of couples flirting and colleagues arguing to provide Mycroft with any kind of relief.

He wedges himself behind a large rose bush. He pricks himself by accident. After looking at the blood Mycroft pushes his hand further down onto the thorns, drawing more blood. He's already created a long list of things that he's done wrong in the conversations today, and pain is always an effective way to get the thoughts to stop running through his head. Mycroft watches the blood drip to the ground, and he times each breath to the falling of a drop of blood. He eventually stops bleeding but continues to breathe slow and easy.

Mycroft makes an action plan to finish banishing the thoughts from his head. He'll research whatever bands are most popular with children his age. He can then scan the fan sites (he understands that this will be ghastly, but some sacrifices must be made) for appropriate comments about them and practice them with enthusiasm in the mirror.

He reaches out and touches the brick wall behind him. He smells the flowers, and he focuses on how the air inside his lungs exhales into icy, vaporous clouds that drift away in seemingly random patterns, but which Mycroft is sure he could mathematically calculate. He still wants to run away, but the party is going to last for at least another hour. He climbs out from behind the rose bush.

Professor Carlson is standing by himself a bit off from the dance floor, and Mycroft approaches. It's easier to focus on the conversation instead of deductions when you are not talking to new people. He's already deduced many things about the man who gave him an internship, complete with access to parties such as this. He is not as likely to be distracted by his clothing or facial features. He sees signs of annoyance as he gets close, but not until it's too late for him to turn without losing face. 

"Are you enjoying yourself tonight?" his mentor asks him.

Mycroft flounders, because he isn't sure if the words indicate sarcasm. They don't have the tone of it, but then again sarcasm rarely did. Certainly, this man who has spent all manner of hours next to Mycroft must know that he is not enjoying himself.

He's been debating too long, not sure how to answer when he doesn't know whether he was presented with a question or a mocking joke.

The man sighs. "Honestly, watching you try to behave like a human causes me physical pain. I can't for the life of me figure out why you'd choose for your profession something which requires a set of skills which completely escape you."

Mycroft feels like he's been punched in the gut, but he keeps the unaffected mask firmly on his face. He does not know which answer would be correct.

He has wanted to be a politician for as long as he can remember, because the world is broken, and Mycroft knows how to fix it. But he’s sure that this is the sort of thing that normal people condemn him for. It seemed like the sort of thing that would get him called 'monster', and he doesn't know why other people want to be politicians.

"My God! I have to do all the work in this conversation! Honestly, if you don't offer up a piece of yourself when you are talking you are never going to get anywhere."

Mycroft flips through his mental file of emergency phrases to defuse the conversation but does not find anything that he thinks would work.

"You've got to take risks. If you are so afraid of saying the wrong thing that you say nothing, then you are never going to get anywhere in life."

More than anything else Mycroft wants to escape, to get to the garden or the bathroom or anywhere that is not here.

But at least now he's found some words to fit the situation. "Thank you for your feedback, sir. I'll take it into account in the future." He doesn't manage to quite keep his voice even as he delivers, but he rests assured that he kept it as even as he could.

He meanders toward the front door in such a slow pattern that few who see him are going to realize that he is leaving. He should call for a taxi first. Not doing so risks a long walk in the frigid night, but he wants to slip away without everyone knowing his failure.

Mycroft Holmes doesn't know how to drive. His mother had attempted to teach him, a couple of times, but she'd stopped pretty quickly because of his tantrums.

Like he was having now. Mycroft had hoped to get a few blocks from the party before it overtook him, but it comes with the sort of intensity where movement and thought are impossible. He struggles for breath. His lungs convulse as if they are in the vacuum of space, desperate for oxygen as if it were a rare thing even though it's surrounding him on every side.

Every time his brain allows him to form thought it is a reminder to breathe, and soon he's dealing with the aftermath. Mycroft Holmes has never been drunk, but he's pretty sure that he knows what a hangover feels like. Normally, when the tantrum passes, he would lay down for a bit, but he can't do that by the side of the road, so he stands back up.

He guesses the direction that will most likely have a taxi and heads that way. It is a posh neighborhood so the likelihood will be slim. Too many people own their own cars and chauffeurs. Also, he might get lost. He frequently does, but getting lost is the sort of thing that is only scary before it happens. Afterward, you know what it feels like, and how to get found, and it is less distressing than a great many other things that Mycroft has experienced in his life.

Mycroft scolds himself for never learning to drive. He knows he could hire someone to teach him, there is money enough, but the idea of being clumsy and stupid in front of a stranger is so stressful that it is not even to be thought of. He will have a driver one day.

There is a bit of moisture on the edge of his eyes, and Mycroft swipes at it without calling it by its proper name. Mummy told him that he mustn't cry, and so he wouldn't.

Mycroft reaches the end of the row, and he hails a taxicab as it passes. He is relieved that this night of torture is almost over.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets a distressing phone call.
> 
> This chapter in the next are when all those content warnings come into play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempts to have a regular posting schedule are already blown out of the water on chapter 2. But I will only be a minute late. My plan is to post on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Hopefully telling you will hold me accountable!

Mycroft Holmes allows himself to sleep in every other Saturday until the unreasonable hour of a quarter after eight. The night after the party his mind awakens before the alarm to run him through all sorts of things which are not exactly profitable.

The room is silent, and usually that would make him feel relief. When Mycroft comes home from a day of noise he is more than happy to be still in the silence, but he hates it when he wakes up to it in the morning. It makes his chest feel hollow and desperate.

His first year at university he'd had a roommate, briefly. The boy had left after a week muttering something about how he'd rather die than spend another night with him. Mycroft had no idea what he'd done to annoy him, but he deferred to the judgment of the boy that he was unbearable to live with. After all his own family had much the same opinion on the matter.

The first emotion he'd learned to recognize was disgust. The ability came from having seen it so frequently on the faces of his parents whenever he entered a room.

He'd been close to his brother when they were both small, but one day when he was thirteen and his brother was six it was as if a switch was flipped. Sherlock was suddenly close to their little sister Eurus and treating Mycroft with scorn whenever he had to interact with him. It was only natural, Mycroft told himself, that siblings who were only a year apart would be closer to one another than they were to a teenager. It was hard for Mycroft not to take it personally, especially since everyone he'd ever known had been so clear that he was the problem.

The whole thing had been made worse by the fact that Mycroft Holmes had never felt any affection for his little sister. He felt guilty about it, certainly, but another part of him felt that he was completely justified. She’d given him a feeling in the pit of his stomach ever since he’d first seen her as a newborn baby.

Mycroft was out of sight intelligent, and Sherlock was dull by comparison, although compared to other children he was a genius (a fact he'd been unaware of until he'd gone to school). Eurus though, eclipsed both Sherlock and Mycroft by immeasurable magnitudes.

Mycroft had been criticized for lack of empathy, but Eurus was offended when people suggested that such a thing existed. Mycroft sometimes forgot pain; Eurus had never felt it.

Mycroft avoided his sister at all costs and had done the same thing to his brother after the turn happened. His parents had been a unit, his siblings had been a unit, and Mycroft had been alone.

"But not lonely," he whispers into the dark of the bedroom, even though he doesn't believe it.

The phone rings. It's much too loud. Mycroft usually goes to great lengths to make sure that all of the sounds he has to endure are bearable, but he'd never bothered to adjust the volume on the phone, because it had simply never rung before. He pulls his hands up to his ears to block out the painful sound, and it's only on the third ring that it occurs to him that it would be both wiser and easier to answer it.

There is a rapid breath on the phone, and Mycroft is about to hang up on the prank call when he hears the voice of his little brother panicked, "Mycroft!"

His stomach drops, "Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"She's coming for me," Sherlock pants. "Or maybe for you. You've got to hide! You've got to come get me."

"Okay, Sherlock, I'll come get you, but you've got to tell me where you are." Mycroft doesn't know what’s happening, but he does know that his little brother is scared, and wants his big brother. The first part is terrifying. The second part is a miracle.

"I don't know.... I'm at a payphone. Mycroft, Eurus is going to kill me. Or you. Probably you, because she always said that if I disobeyed she would kill whoever I cared about the most. I tried to convince her that I didn't care about anyone, but she might have known anyway."

"Calm down, Sherlock," Mycroft soothes. "I'm sure that Eurus wasn't being literal. People rarely are literal." The world had been much less terrifying to Mycroft once he'd discovered this particular fact.

"She sure as hell meant it when she killed Mummy and Daddy," Sherlock says.

Mycroft is used to conversations feeling like he is being punched in the gut, but this is so much more intense that he doesn't have a way to understand it. His inability to process turns into his saving grace. It keeps him far enough away that he can focus, that a part of him can disbelieve the horrible news, "Sherlock, you saw this happen?"

"Not while she was doing it."

"Sherlock, you've got to call the police," Mycroft says, trying to bring out his firm and commanding mask, but it doesn't fit on his face today.

"No!" Sherlock wails out in an inhuman tone.

"You don't have a choice Sherlock; this is the way to get safe. Why don't you want to?"

Sherlock sobs out, "She said that if I ever went to the police, she would tell them that it was me. I touched him. I touched Daddy, and they are going to see my fingerprints, and I don't want to go to jail!"

Mycroft feels as if something in is chest is going to explode. "Sherlock, I'm not going to let her do that to you, okay? She's not going to get away with it this time. You have to call the police though; they are going to keep you safe from her. I'm going to get to the police station nearest our house as fast as I can. You tell them that I'm coming, and you tell them only what you have to keep yourself and others safe, and you wait for the rest until I get there."

"I'm scared." The tiny, thin voice drifts across the phone line. It's the voice that Sherlock wore when he still had baby fat and thought that his big brother hung the moon.

"I know, but you're going to have to call 999, okay? You can do that right?" Mycroft asks, stretching the cord of the phone to his closet so he can pull out a duffel bag while he continues to talk to his brother.

"Okay, but you have to hurry," Sherlock says, and the click of the receiver causes Mycroft to feel more alone than he has in a really long time.

Mycroft calls the taxi, and only allows himself the time it takes to come to pack. He starts by throwing into the bag everything that he has outgrown in case his brother needs something to wear. The rest of the bag is quickly filled with clothes for himself. He fills the pockets of his coat with things before running down the stairs, and it’s not until he’s in the taxi that he notices he’s included an umbrella for some reason he doesn’t fully understand.

He runs down the stairs, and still has to wait agonizing minutes for the taxi to arrive, even though the whole time that he was packing he was worried about missing the taxi. He steps inside and gives the address of the police station. The man glances with alarm in the rear-view mirror.

"Family emergency, I'd appreciate whatever speed you can give it."

The man casts him a look of sympathy, and then Mycroft is silent in the backseat of the car. He has nothing to do but think, and he finds this to be a very terrifying pastime.

He scolds himself for not having called 999 before he left his apartment. He'll never forgive himself if his brother doesn't call in, especially if Sherlock is in danger. His heart pounds with wasted fight and flight energy that he can do nothing about right now.

Mycroft begins to twirl the umbrella.

He tries to focus on what he is going to do and say when he arrives, but his mind spins, unable to land on something useful. He promised his brother that he was going to take care of him, make everything all right. He'd said it with authority like he was a grown up, but he didn't feel like he was a grown-up right now.

Mycroft continues to twirl the umbrella and finds that it’s calming him. He pushes it further into the floor of the car and twirls it faster.

Mycroft keeps trying to remind himself that his parents are dead. He can't believe it, but he tries to make himself do it. He tries to picture the crime scene. He doesn't have enough details to know exactly what it would look like, but every time that he gets close he feels like he is going to throw up.

Twirl, twirl. There is a bit of the umbrella that doesn’t fold down quite as well with the others, and Mycroft waits for it to come around, again, and again, and again.

He also tries to remind himself that his sister is a murderer and is alarmed when this turns out to be far easier. He hates himself for that.

There is a sound to the twirling, soft swishing of fabric, and the feel of the wooden handle in his hand, the fabric against his leg. It’s like a dance.

She's twelve years old, and it shouldn't be this easy to believe that she’s a monster. She'd convinced Sherlock not to tell about goodness knows what for goodness knows how long. If she was capable of murdering his parents, then what had she done to his brother? A defenseless little boy?

He closes his eyes, and an image of his sister appears unbidden age four, bleeding from an opening in her arm asking him, "Which one is pain?"

Apparently, she still doesn't know.

He presses the tip of the umbrella into his toe as he spins it, and now with a new sensation, he is able to focus on nothing but the sensations of the umbrella spinning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft arrives at the police station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves a very graphic depiction of murder.
> 
> I should warn you that my chapters vary greatly in length, but I'm sure you know that by now.

Mycroft runs up to the police desk with his huge duffel bag smacking against his legs in a way that he will probably realize is painful later, but he isn't about to let it register right now.

"Is there a Sherlock Holmes here?" he asks the lady behind the front desk.

"In booking?" she asks, looking over her computer at him.

"Ah...no....I think he called 999," Mycroft says growing frantic. "I was going to meet him here. I've been at college. I don't live locally."

"Oh," she says, the polite smile falling off of her face. "The boy," she says gravely. When Mycroft nods she continues. "I'll have someone take you back." She waves another officer over, and Mycroft follows him back to the interrogation room.

As soon as Mycroft walks through the door Sherlock surges toward him. The thirteen-year-old is thin and holds himself as if he were even smaller than he actually is. Mycroft has never seen him look this small. He's wearing pajamas with a bright orange shock blanket draped loosely around his shoulders. Sherlock is covered in blood from tussled curly hair to bare, toe-curled feet, and his face is wearing the same emotions that Mycroft heard in his voice on the phone.

"No touching until we've got the samples," a cop leaning against the wall warns gently.

Sherlock freezes. "I didn't know if I was supposed to wait for you before they did that. I let them take pictures of me, but I drew a line at the blood samples.”

"That's fine, Sherlock," Mycroft assures him warmly. "You can do that now." Mycroft is relieved that Sherlock has at least made one decision for him, but he knows that he is going to have to start making more of them soon, and that causes a dull ache in his stomach. He can barely notice that ache because there are so many others.

"Okay." Sherlock nods to the only other person in the room. He's wearing some sort of plastic over his clothes, and he moves over to Sherlock with Q-Tips and plastic bags.

"Are you testing to see whose blood is on me? I'm telling you it will be Mummy and Daddy. I touched Daddy. Is there anything else you are going to be able to tell from the blood?”

Mycroft meets his brother's eyes above the head of the technician, and it's enough for the boy to fall into silence. There is no reason to give these people a glimpse at exactly how cold and analytical his brother can be.

"When you’re done with this, I can hug my brother, right?" Sherlock asks with a touch of whine in his voice.

Mycroft is glad that his brother is rather good at acting. He can't actually remember the last time that his brother hugged him, but it is certainly the sort of thing that people would expect a child his age to say in a situation like this.

The tech nods, and after a bit more prodding and testing he says, "You're clear," and just like that Sherlock's arms are wrapped around Mycroft and the little boy is sobbing on him, and Mycroft has no idea what to do with this. His arms finally close around his brother, and he whispers, "I'm glad you are okay."

When Sherlock finally pulls away, the officer near the wall asks Sherlock, "Do you want to shower now?"

"I brought you some clothes," Mycroft hastens to add. "I mean, they’re not your clothes, of course, but I brought you something from my flat which should do."

"Thank you," Sherlock says with no small amount of relief.

A few minutes later the police officer and Mycroft are standing outside a restroom which is apparently kept just for the use of victims of crimes.

"I'm Greg Lestrade," the officer says.

Mycroft barely holds the groan in himself. Apparently, he is going to have to deal with small talk, even today. He wants to reply with something harsh and grading about his loss. Something that would be very likely to make the other man shut up and leave him alone, but instead he replies with his name, which actually takes less effort. "Mycroft Holmes."

"He's a lot calmer since you came," Officer Lestrade whispers. “He was bloody frantic when I first picked him up. God, I have never seen anything so horrible as that little boy covered in blood and standing in a phone booth sobbing.

Mycroft finds himself longing for small talk instead of this, but he doesn't know how to make that happen.

"He was hyperventilating and kept looking around for your sister. When I got him locked in the panda car he felt a little bit safer and he was able to answer some questions."

Mycroft swallows and struggles to come up with some appropriate words. They don’t come.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Lestrade says, looking at him with too much emotion for Mycroft to process. Mycroft hasn't really thought about his own grief, especially not since arriving at the police station. All that had mattered to him was Sherlock.

"Thank you," Mycroft forces past the lump on his throat.

The police officer examines him for a couple of seconds before asking, "How old are you?"

Mycroft doesn't understand why he's asking. He's not having a birthday or buying one of the things locked to people below a certain age, but there are so many things Mycroft doesn't understand that he just figures there must be a reason so he answers, "Twenty."

"Are you thinking of getting custody of him?" Lestrade’s eyes are looking away at the beginning of the question, but they are focused on Mycroft as the pause gets longer.

"Of course. He's my brother," Mycroft says very clearly. He'd never considered that anything else might be an option. If there was another option Mycroft would give Sherlock that gift. His brother might have followed him around as if Mycroft was his hero when he was a little boy, but in recent years he has spent a whole lot more time calling Mycroft dumb, fat, and pointing out his endless social mistakes. When Mycroft would enter a room Sherlock would leave it. Mycroft wishes that there was someone to take care of his brother that his brother would actually want to live with.

It's true, Sherlock had hugged him, but how long was that going to last? It might have all been Sherlockian make-believe to con the police officers. Even if it was real this effect would probably fade once the trauma did. Sherlock would rather be raised by someone else, and he's probably already mentioned this to Officer Lestrade. No doubt this is why the officer brought it up.

"Good," Officer Lestrade says with a relieved sigh. "He really loves you. He was shaking before you came. I voted for taking him into hospital, but that suggestion just picked up the volume of the weird sound that he was making.”

"Oh," Mycroft says. He can't do it. Sherlock needs someone who knows what they are doing. Mycroft has never even babysat Sherlock, not even for an hour when his parents were out of the house. How is he going to cope with someone who needs to go into hospital, but won’t? Why did Sherlock need to go to hospital anyway? Was some of the blood his? Did Eurus hurt him?

Sherlock exits the bathroom wearing Mycroft's oversized clothes and falls into Mycroft's arms for another hug. When Sherlock lets go, Mycroft rolls the shirt waistline up, and then does the same with the cuffs of his pants and sleeves. A year ago they would have just pooled at the floor, but even though Sherlock is still thin he’s put a lot of height on recently.

"Better?" Mycroft asks him with a careful smile.

"Anything without blood is better," Sherlock says seriously.

Mycroft didn't bring him any shoes. He only has the pair on his feet, and he seriously considers giving them to his brother, but he's not sure if his large shoes would be any better for his brother than going barefoot.

"I have to talk about what happened now, don't I?" Sherlock asks.

Mycroft nods his head seriously.

"I don't want to talk about it more than once," Sherlock says firmly. "I want to get it over with."

"I'm not sure how healthy that is," Mycroft objects. "But I'm not going to try to force you to talk about it before you are ready."

"Good, because if you don't agree to that I won't say anything," Sherlock says. Sherlock's jaw is set in a way that seems to be far more grown-up than Mycroft remembers him being.

Lestrade leads them into a different conference room where a man in a fluffy white sweater is sitting behind a desk. He begins to speak to Sherlock in the sort of voice people use when they are dealing with wounded or hysterical children. "Hello, Sherlock. I am Dr. Robertson. I'm going to be asking you about what happened this morning. Do you feel like you want to tell me about it?"

"No, I don’t, but I’m consenting to it," Sherlock says with an angry look on his face.

The corner of the psychologist's lip turns up just the tiniest amount

"I think you'll find my brother has an intelligence which is far above average. He will respond a lot better if you act as if you are interviewing an adult."

Sherlock shoots his brother a grateful look, and the two of them sit down in the chairs provided. Sherlock scoots his chair closer to Mycroft and looks up at the older boy clearly trying to find out if this proximity will be allowed. Mycroft answers the silent question by wrapping an arm over his brother’s shoulder.

"Can you tell me how it started this morning?" the doctor asks in a much more grown-up voice as he clicks the voice recorder on the desk between them on.

"First, can you tell me, are they still there?" Sherlock asks. "Did you leave them there? In their blood?"

The doctor is clearly taken aback by the question. "The crime scene has not been cleared yet."

"I don't like that," Sherlock says shaking his head. "I know that it's irrational to be bothered by it. The logical part of me knows that they have to stay there until all the clues have been processed. I don't want it to be rushed and compromise the crime scene. I know that Mummy and Daddy aren't there anymore, and they don't have any idea what is happening to their bodies. They don't feel anything anymore. But I still don't like it. And the house is a mess. Mummy would hate to know how long the blood has been soaking into the carpet."

Mycroft's breath gets away from him, and he finds himself leaning forward, not quite putting his head between his legs, but more than halfway there. Sherlock is alarmed by the action.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispers, leaning over close to him.

"Don't be silly. You never have to be sorry when you tell the truth," Mycroft says.

"I upset you," his brother whines.

"I'm going to be very upset today, Sherlock. That is not your fault. You say what you need to."

"Whenever you are ready," Dr. Robinson says after Mycroft has sat up straight again.

"I knew something was wrong right away when I woke up this morning. Usually, Eurus wakes me up, but this time I opened my eyes and she wasn't around."

"Your sister wakes you up?" Dr. Robinson asks. "Not your parents?"

"Um...maybe they would have woken me up, but she always did before they got up in the morning," Sherlock says, somewhat confused. "It's not like they asked her to. She did it in cruel ways. Sometimes it was just feather and shaving cream, or a bucket of water, or sometimes it was the booby traps and the thumbscrews."

"What?" Mycroft says in horror.

"She got the idea out of a book about the Middle Ages-" Sherlock begins.

"I know what thumbscrews are, Sherlock. I'm just alarmed that Eurus was using them on you. How often did this happen? Jesus!" Mycroft stops his rant when he sees that his brother has curled up toward himself.

"Please don't be mad at me," Sherlock says with a wounded sounding voice.

"You're not the one that I am mad at," Mycroft says. "But I wish you'd told us what was happening. We wouldn't have let her do that to you if we’d known."

"I couldn't tell you!" Sherlock says with urgency. "If I told anyone what was going on she would have killed whoever I loved the most," Sherlock locks eyes with Officer Lestrade. "You have to keep that promise not to let her kill Mycroft. I am not going to tell anything about what she did if she is going to kill him because of it."

"You’re safe now," Dr. Robinson assures him, slipping back into the child friendly tone. "We'll offer you police protection until she is caught. Please go on telling us what happened after you woke up."

"Well, I laid there for a while, because I thought she might have done one of the booby traps again, but I didn't see any hints of it. So, after I'd looked around really well, I got up, and went downstairs. When I got to the bottom, I noticed that the floor was wet. I looked down, and it was red, and it made me very confused because Mummy would never let a spill of red things sit on her white carpet without cleaning it up right away. It was sticky, and that should have been enough to let me know what it was, but I don’t think that my brain was working all that well."

"That's understandable, considering," Dr. Robinson prompts.

"I heard a noise in the kitchen, and it was the sound of a brush on the wall, so I went in there, and Eurus was paining the wall,” Sherlock pauses, clearly alarmed by the memory.

"Where were your parents?" Dr. Robinson prompts.

"They were on the floor," Sherlock says with a look of disgust. “Mummy's organs were laying on the floor between them. That’s what Eurus was painting, a diagram of her organs. She was painting it in their blood.”

Mycroft isn't even aware he's going to throw up until after Officer Lestrade has the rubbish bin under his mouth to catch it.

"I'm sorry!" Sherlock exclaims.

Mycroft reaches around the rubbish bin in order to squeeze his brother's hand. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry that I didn't react better, but you did nothing wrong."

"It's Eurus's fault?" Sherlock asks tentatively.

"Yes," Mycroft says firmly, wiping his mouth as Lestrade exits the room with the trash can.

"You don't have to stay while I talk about this," Sherlock says, clearly hoping that Mycroft is not going to take him up on the offer.

"I'm staying," Mycroft says firmly. It's ridiculous that he thinks he can take care of Sherlock when he can't even get through five minutes of hearing about the trauma that the boy has been through. There has to be someone better. His brother deserves someone better.

"I knew Mummy was dead, but Daddy was all in one piece. I ran over to feel his pulse, but when I touched him, I noticed that his throat was cut. That's how I got the blood all over me. Eurus turned to me, and she told me that I was a very bad little boy and scolded me for killing him. But I didn't kill him, and I knew that I didn't. She wanted to convince me that it was me, and sometimes that works, mostly with other people. She'd tried to convince me of lies before, and I managed to get out of it by pretending it worked so that she'd stop before it actually would work. Then I realized that if she couldn't convince me that I was the murderer that she was going to kill me. So, I ran out of the room. She wasn't following me, and that made me really nervous. Maybe she was only letting me get away so she could do something worse to me. That's generally how it works. She always has a plan, and then a backup plan to that one, and then another hundred backups after that. I ran through the streets for a long while, trying to pick a way that she wouldn’t predict, and then I stopped at a phone booth. There was a homeless woman who gave me the money to make the call. That was very nice of her, and we can give her some money when this is all over, can't we?" Sherlock says, looking at Mycroft during his last sentence.

Mycroft nods.

Then Sherlock continues. "I called Mycroft, because I was worried that she might hurt him. She always threatened she was going to. I also didn't want to call the police. I was worried the reason she wasn't chasing me was because she'd already called you guys, and told you that I did it. But Mycroft told me that I had to call you, and that he would make it okay."

Mycroft wraps his arm around his brother again and gives him a little squeeze.

"Then I waited in the phone booth until Lestrade came to get me," Sherlock says with determination.

"You seem more surprised by the fact that your sister didn't kill you than you were by the fact that she killed your parents," Dr. Robinson points out.

"Oh," Sherlock says, looking down, and then he glances over at Officer Lestrade. "If I tell you other things that Eurus did can you still keep Mycroft safe?"

"We're going to offer both of you police protection, no matter what you say so long as it is the truth," Officer Lestrade promises him.

"You're going to have to talk to Victor Trevor then, and offer him protection too," Sherlock says seriously.

"That little boy that you used to play with?" Mycroft says in surprise.

"Seven years ago Eurus got jealous that I was playing with Victor, and not her. She put him down a well. She gave me a puzzle to solve, and he had to stay down there until I solved it. He got really sick. She told both of us that if we ever told she was going to kill everyone we cared about. So, you see, I was not really surprised that she killed my parents. I’ve worried about her killing someone that I love every day for the last seven years," Sherlock says with earnestness in his voice.

Dr. Robinson looks at Mycroft, and it takes him far too long to figure out that he's asking for confirmation. Mycroft can't give him that exactly, because if he knew it was happening he would have done something about it, but he offers up the little bit that he can. "I remember the little boy going missing and catching pneumonia. I never for a minute thought my sister had anything to do with it. I would have done something if I had. She..." he sighs, remembering with almost painful clarity Mummy's urge to keep Eurus's 'problems' under wraps. Well, it was a bit late for that now. "It's important for you to understand that as a family we've been concerned about Eurus for a long time. She's often drawn things that were violent and bloody. She's engaged in self harm from a place of curiosity; wanting to look at her muscles and what not. She's been cruel to animals, and she's set things on fire, including the desk in Sherlock's room." Sherlock flinches at the memory, and the action gives a punch to Mycroft's stomach. "I assure you that if our family had known that she was abusing my brother we would have done something. We attempted therapy for Eurus. It did not deescalate her behavior."

Mycroft squeezes his brother's shoulder and wishes that he could do something that was more intense, more fulfilling. Seven years. That's how long Eurus has been torturing his baby brother. That's how long he let his brother down.

Then the connection is made. Seven years. That's exactly how long it's been since Sherlock stopped being Mycroft’s little brother and became his antagonizer. Hope comes up in his heart, and he's afraid to speak this hope, just in case he’s wrong.

Sherlock nods his head as his deductions skills, so much sharper since Eurus had taken over their education, read Mycroft’s hidden thoughts. "I had to be mean to you," he says seriously. "Because I didn't want her to know you were the person that I loved the most. Calling you names was the best way to keep you safe, and even though I said all kinds of horrible things about you they were never true. I'm sorry, Mycroft. I hope that you can come to a place where you can forgive me one day."

Mycroft leans forward. His brain fights against the new information, which is the opposite of what he has believed all these years. His brother had been protecting him. They had only ever drifted apart because his brother was protecting him. Mycroft hasn't messed up their relationship like he has messed up all the other relationships in his life.

"It's okay, Sherlock, honestly. It's a relief actually. All of this time I thought you hated me, and I didn't know why. We used to be such good friends, and then all of a sudden it was over. I'm not angry with you. I'm relieved."

Sherlock lets out a reassured sigh, and then he turns to Dr. Robertson. "You haven't found her yet, have you?"

"No, and we checked all the places that you suggested in the house."

Sherlock nods. "She must have left the house then, and didn't chase me. I don't know quite what she is playing at, but that's no surprise. Most of the time I don't know what her plan is. Still, it's dangerous not to know. What are you going to do with us until you find her? Do we have to live here? You have a shower, but I can't imagine that you've got beds around?" the boy says with a look of confusion on his face.

"No, you'll stay in a hotel, and we'll assign police officers to take turns looking over you and your brother until this is all cleared up."

"Can it be Lestrade?" Sherlock asks, looking to the man.

"That's not my decision to make, but I'll make a note that you seem to have bonded with him. I'm sure they'll be willing to do whatever it takes to make you feel more comfortable," Dr. Robinson says. "Of course, someone can run you by the house and let you pick up whatever you need. It's a crime scene, and you couldn't stay there right now even if we had your sister located."

"I don't want to go by the house," Sherlock says with a firm scared look on his face. "I don't want to go anywhere that she might be able to expect me to be."

"I promise that the house was well searched, including all the places that you thought your sister would be."

"Even if she wasn't there when you checked she might get there when I did," Sherlock says with panic in his face.

"Okay, Sherlock. We won't go there until you are ready," Mycroft assures him. "Would you feel comfortable going to a shop? I can't imagine that you'd want to spend all day in those clothes."

"Are we done with my interview?" Sherlock asks the psychologist. When the man answers with a nod, all of the tension goes out of Sherlock's shoulders. "That was much less horrible than I thought it was going to be."

The doctor gives him a sympathetic smile. "That is about all we can expect from something like this, isn't it? Now, would you mind going into the hallway for a bit? I'd love to have a nice chat with your brother."

Mycroft's heart clenches, fear gripping him at the prospect that the doctor is going to list all the ways that he is ill equipped to be taking care of his brother. He smiles at his brother though, hoping that he is properly hiding his thoughts this time. "Could I ask you to stay with him?" he asks Officer Lestrade.

"Of course," the officer agrees. "You hungry?" Officer Lestrade asks Sherlock. "There’s a vending machine just around the corner."

Sherlock's eyes go wide with delight. "I get to pick out my breakfast from a vending machine? Can I get candy?"

Officer Lestrade casts an apologetic look over his shoulder at Mycroft, who gives him a nod of encouragement and waves them on.

Dr. Robinson glances over his shoulder and waits for the door to close before he says, "A social worker will be here soon. They'll want to know your thoughts on the custody of your brother."

Mycroft blinks at him. It's not the first time that Mycroft has been confused by everyone debating over something which seems clear and obvious to him, but it is rare that this debate causes such pain. "Of course. I am going to take him."

The doctor's eyebrows raise. "We're not dealing with the sort of thing which we can say 'of course' to. I understand that you might be having a knee jerk reaction based on a sense of family obligation, but I want you to think seriously about this before you make an actual decision. Committing to raise a child is a very big thing. It’s not to be taken lightly."

"Neither is family," Mycroft says with annoyance in his face. "I love that boy. He's my brother, and what he needs right now more than anything else is family. He deserves to have people that he knows instead of strangers. I'm not about to send him off to care."

"The foster care system is-" Dr. Robinson begins.

"The best that we can create for children who don't have a better option," Mycroft interrupts. "I don't think you are actually questioning the fact that I want him. I think you are questioning whether or not I am qualified to provide care for him. So how about we stop talking at cross purposes, and dive into your real concern?"

"How old are you?" the doctor says, looking at the paper before him.

"Twenty, but you'll find that above average intelligence is a family trait."

"I have no doubt, but intelligence does not equal maturity, and it is not the main thing which is needed in order to raise a child."

"Well, I've money enough as well, at least assuming that Uncle Rudy will give me access to his trust fund. I love my brother, and if he requires something that I don't have then I will just figure out how to get it. After all, most parents enter into this thing without any preparation or training, and they all learn. If skill is your concern, I will do whatever I need to acquire it."

Dr. Robinson sighs. "Sherlock is not the only child I am concerned about here. You are in college are you not?" Mycroft nods. "You're not settled in life yet. You've just begun! _You've_ lost your parents as well, and I worry about you neglecting your own grief in order to care for your brother. You have to understand the sort of sacrifice that raising a child for the next decade is going to take."

"I am willing to do this," Mycroft says firmly. "I want to do this."

"I'm not sure you understand the depth of the commitment that we are talking about."

Mycroft pounds his hands into the table in frustration. "Look, I feel as if we are talking in circles now. I understand that it won't be easy to raise Sherlock. I'm not looking for something easy here. The little boy has been tortured by one of his siblings, and I will not allow him to be abandoned by the other one. Now I really think I am in his best interest, and if you don't think so you're going to be the one who has to make the decision, because I will not give him up willingly!"

"Well, of course it's all up to the social worker, but I will put in a recommendation that you be given the chance. Assuming of course that your brother feels similarly about it."

Mycroft feels his stomach drop out from him. His brother might not feel the same. His brother might in fact have better options. Uncle Rudy, for example, and perhaps Sherlock would even consider going into care rather than be with Mycroft. Mycroft has to work a bit in order to keep himself from throwing up again. It helps that there is no longer a garbage can in the room.

"You won't mind sending him in to talk to me, would you? Once his…vending machine breakfast is finished," the man says, his nose curled up in disgust at the process of sweets for breakfast.

Mycroft finds his brother by the vending machine, with three different kinds of half empty candy wrappers in his hands. Officer Lestrade has a grin on his face, which disappears after he looks at Mycroft. "I tried to talk him into donuts, but he made a convincing argument that the designation of pastry as breakfast food and candy as not was a purely cultural distinction and had nothing to do with an actual difference in their nutritional content."

"Sherlock, hand me the candy," Mycroft says in a voice which is sterner than he meant it to be.

"But I'm hungry," Sherlock says in muffled indignation.

Mycroft closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath before he says, "You can have them back in a moment, but you need to go talk to Dr. Robinson first.

Sherlock crumples to the floor, and Mycroft joins him. "What's wrong?" he asks his little brother.

"You told him that you didn't want me," Sherlock says mournfully.

"No, I didn't," Mycroft says rubbing his back. "I told them that I wanted to be your guardian, and he just needs to see who you want to live with."

Sherlock's mouth drops in surprise, "It's you. Of course, it’s you."

Mycroft smiles at him and rubs his back again. "Okay then, you just have to go and tell him that, and you can have the candy back after.

"No, I'll eat something more respectable," Sherlock promises as he returns to the room and Dr. Robinson.

"I'm sorry about the candy," Officer Lestrade says, and Mycroft heaves himself off the floor so that he can be on level with the other man again.

"I don't care about it. I just wouldn't want him to eat it in front of Dr. Robinson when he already thinks I’m irresponsible.”

"You know that you don't have to take Sherlock, right?" Officer Lestrade says with his eyebrows pinched in worry.

Mycroft doesn't look the officer in the eye as he says. "You don't think that I can do it either, do you?"

"What?" Lestrade says leaning forward with all the signs of shock upon his face which humans find it the hardest to fake. "Of course, you can do this! You're amazing with your little brother. I just wanted you to know that you didn't have to. This is going to change your life forever, and you do have a choice. It’s important that you know you have a choice.”

"I know. I hope that I'm not being selfish and that I am doing the right thing by Sherlock. I don't want to mess him up, and I'm afraid I really haven't spent that much time around children before. That includes my own brother."

"You'll be amazing," Lestrade encourages.

"I didn’t think that he wanted me," Mycroft admits, unable to flick his eyes to the other man's even though he knows that would be the proper thing to do.

"He does," Lestrade says with such certainty that Mycroft's doubt flees him.

"Thank you, and…I really appreciate you being willing to work with my brother. I gather that it's not what you typically do, and I understand the sacrifice."

"It's no sacrifice," Lestrade says. "The little bugger has wormed his way into my heart. I'm glad I was the one nearest when we got the call. I want to see this through, as much as I am able to.”

Mycroft grins at him again, and then Sherlock explodes from the room that Dr. Robinson is in. He's moving so fast that the cuffs of his pants come undone, causing him to trip. Mycroft catches Sherlock before he can completely fall, and then sets him back on his feet. Sherlock is looking up at him with the look which used to come with his baby cheeks. "Thank you."

Lestrade says, "Should we go over here to sit down and eat?"

Mycroft nods, and Lestrade finds them a quiet corner where they are away from other people's eyes in a more complete way than they have been since Mycroft arrived at the police station. Sherlock begins to eat his sweeties, and he holds them up to Mycroft who shakes his head. "You didn't eat breakfast, did you?" Sherlock asks his brother

"I'm not hungry," Mycroft says shaking his head.

"I think I've got some crackers in my desk," Lestrade offers.

Mycroft shakes his head again.

"Water or coffee then?" Lestrade presses.

"Not right now," Mycroft says.

Sherlock finishes up his sweeties, and when offered more shakes his head. "Well, I suppose that we've got to get the hotel sorted then," Mycroft says weakly.

"You have to tell Uncle Rudy first," Sherlock says.

It feels like a punch to Mycroft’s stomach. But Sherlock is right. It has to be done quickly before their uncle finds out some other way, but the idea of actually breaking this terrible news to Mycroft’s relative is terrifying to him. There is no one else to do it though, and honestly, he ought to just be glad that he doesn't have dozens of relatives to call.

Sherlock grabs Mycroft's hand and gives it a squeeze. Lestrade leads them over to a telephone at a desk, and Mycroft makes the call while shaking. Uncle Rudy immediately takes over a great many tasks that Mycroft was dreading as well as some that he didn’t even think of, such as contacting lawyers and insurance. Uncle Rudy books them a hotel and arranges to go and get Sherlock's belongings from the house and transport them to the brothers’ room. Sherlock tells him in painful detail all of the things that he wants and then cries. Then Uncle Rudy arranges the logistics of the trip to their house with Lestrade.

"You can't take Lestrade though," Sherlock informs him gravely. "He's going to go with us to the hotel."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Rudy provides some comfort and whiskey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Sorry! Missed my posting date. I do have a chronic illness, and I was very sick yesterday. But...as I did manage to write 1,000 words I COULD have posted had I remembered, so it's not an excuse!

"Do you want to watch telly?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock crinkles up his nose in a "why?” expression. “I’ve never done that.”

"Okay," Mycroft says.

"You're making your brother nervous just sitting there doing nothing," Lestrade explains to Sherlock.

Sherlock looks at the police officer in concern. "That's not good? All right then, what is one supposed to do in circumstances like this?"

"It's not about what you are supposed to do. It's about what you want to do," Lestrade encourages. Mycroft is relieved that he is there because Mycroft would not know how to begin explaining this.

"I just want Mum and Dad here," Sherlock mutters.

Mycroft’s breath sharply inhales. He tries to pretend it didn’t happen, but his brother won’t let him.

"Sorry!" Sherlock whispers.

"No, it's quite all right," Mycroft says, moving over by his brother. "I want them too. What would make it better?"

"Probably nothing," Sherlock mutters.

"A hug?" Mycroft asks, hoping that his brother is going to think that he’s asking for Sherlock's sake, even though he is asking at least partly for himself.

Whether or not Sherlock understands this he does wrap his arms around his brother, and says, "I missed you, Mycroft."

"I did too, Sherlock, and I'm sorry. I should have gone to a university that was closer and allowed me to stay at home longer. Perhaps if I were there, I would have figured out what was happening to you sooner. I should have been able to see it anyway. I should have seen it before I went away."

"No," Sherlock shakes his head against Mycroft's chest, then before pulls away. "I wanted you to go away." Mycroft flinches away before he can even think about it. "No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I wanted you to go to college so that she couldn't hurt you. I didn't just miss you since you went to college. I’ve missed you ever since she took you from me."

"I know, Sherlock, and I am glad that you protected me. I wish she hadn't hurt you like that. But she can't hurt us anymore."

"Do I have to go to school tomorrow?" Sherlock asks seriously.

Mycroft hadn't even considered the possibility before his brother had raised it. He's not sure what the correct answer ought to be, but he is sure of the answer he is going to give. "You are not going to be going to school for a while actually. I'd feel better if it wasn't until Eurus is secured, and you are...ready." Mycroft hopes the vagueness is not giving too much freedom to a child this age.

"Okay," Sherlock says. He hesitates, thinking, then asks, "Are _you_ going to school tomorrow?"

"No," Mycroft says with decision. He's not sure if he can do the difficult task of raising Sherlock, but he is certain that it is not possible for him to be doing it while he is going to school. Mycroft hands him the room service menu. "Why don't you order something while we wait."

Sherlock looks at him with a terrified look on his face.

Mycroft sighs. "You can't have vending machine food for every meal. Although we can find you something from one for dessert after you eat a proper supper."

"You don't even understand why I want them," Sherlock pouts. "Eurus used to put things in our food. Mum and Dad lost a whole day, and they never even noticed. They just thought that they got their days mixed up. She gave me things too, usually just things that made me throw up, but sometimes it made me all dizzy and confused. It was scary to be like that, defenseless around her.”

"Eurus isn't here, Sherlock," Mycroft assures him.

"We don't know that though, do we? Because we don't actually know where Eurus is. This vending machine food was put in the machines before she wanted to hurt me. It's all sealed. I'm not saying she couldn't find a way around that, because she can find her way around just about anything. But it would be a lot more likely she would get caught doing something like that."

"Ah," Mycroft says with a sigh. "Then we'll just go out and buy some packaged food."

"I don't want to leave here," Sherlock says, terror in his eyes.

Mycroft is out of ideas, but he does know that Sherlock not eating until Eurus is caught is certainly not a viable option.

"What if all of us went down to the kitchen and inspected it together? Eh?" Lestrade suggests. "We could show them pictures of your sister, and explain to them how she will try to trick them. Would that make you feel safe enough to eat something?"

Sherlock nods.

***

Sherlock peppers the hotel staff with questions and does a great deal of poking around the kitchen himself. He annoys the employees, but the sad story is enough to carry him through all of that.

Once the actual food arrives however Sherlock does little more than pick at it. At least it was something to pass the time until Uncle Rudy arrives. Once Sherlock is in pajamas his own size he looks far less small and helpless. Uncle Rudy doesn't say much, but just him being there provides Mycroft with a great deal of comfort.

Lestrade's shift ends, and a new police officer stands guard in the back of the room. Uncle Rudy holds Sherlock until he falls asleep, and then he pulls a bottle of double malt scotch out of his coat pocket. He fumbles about in the hotel bathroom until he finds two glasses. They are not of the quality that the drink would normally be poured into, but they will do. Mycroft has drunk before on exactly three occasions. Two of those times were also poured by Uncle Rudy. One on the day he'd been declared valedictorian, and when he'd gotten into his first choice of college. The other time had been a bit of an experiment; he'd gone to a college party to see if he could blend in.

He'd not liked it as much as he'd expected to. Mycroft has no intention of repeating that experience, but drinks with his uncle are nothing like that. They make him feel grown-up, and he wants to feel grown-up right now.

"Thank you," Mycroft says, taking the glass from his uncle.

"My condolences," Rudy whispers back.

Mycroft is forced to focus on his own grief instead of his brother’s, and it feels like a weight now. “I'm sorry about your brother." Mycroft returns.

Rudy swallows around the lump in his throat. "You think Sherlock is right? Eurus did this?"

Mycroft nods his head gravely.

Rudy downs his glass with a single gulp and then pours himself another. "Jesus, she's a fucking child."

"You know she's always been…odd," Mycroft supplies.

Rudy nods. "It doesn't feel good looking back. I never saw it coming, I swear I didn't. But when I look back, I can't see how I missed it."

Mycroft nods again, and takes a delicate sip of the scotch, enjoying the tingling pain as it sets his throat on fire.

"We need to talk about what is going to be done when the police find her."

"That's going to be up to a judge."

His uncle shoots him the sort of look his mother called "incredulous face" when Mycroft wore it. "I believe, nephew dear, you are aware of what I do for a living?"

"Yes," Mycroft says with only the smallest of glances at the police officer in the corner. "A minor position in the British government."

A smile crosses his uncle's face at the impromptu cover story. "Yes, well, I'm sure that you realize I could do something to determine her fate if it became necessary."

"Prison," Mycroft says with another sip, bigger this time-but still slow, so that the burn lasts as long as possible in his throat.

"Such things do not exist for twelve-year-olds."

"Then the closest that we can get her into," Mycroft declares.

“All right, if that's what you want, but there are institutions which are more focused on reform than just blind punishment," Rudy begins.

Mycroft would love to stomp off at the suggestion, but he can't. He's sharing a hotel room with his brother, and they only have one cop to share between them. He can't even make a bit of noise which might become a stomp for fear of waking his brother up.

"Okay," Rudy says, seeing his silent reaction. "Of course, Mycroft. I'm on your side here. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't going to make any decisions that you'd later regret."

Mycroft nods and takes another sip of his scotch. The burning sensation has become pleasant. He considers asking for more since there are only two or three distractions left in the glass, but he's not sure exactly where the line of inebriation happens, and he doesn't want to get drunk when he’s in charge of his little brother. Best to stick with the amount that he knows is safe.

Rudy clears his throat. "You know you don't have to raise that little boy yourself. Jesus, Mycroft, you are twenty years old, a child yourself." Mycroft starts to object, but his uncle waves him off. "I know, I know. You’re right at one of those ages like eleven or sixteen when you fancy yourself all grown-up. I've no doubt that if you decide to raise your brother, you'll grow up fast and make a good life for him. I just want you to know that doesn't have to be the way it is, you know? I'd love to raise the both of you. If you want to give your life over to that boy, I'm going to let you, Mycroft, because I can tell that both of you love each other. But I'm telling you right now that I could raise the two of you with less sacrifice than it’s going to take you."

The idea warms Mycroft’s heart unless the burn has settled there. He lets out a sigh of relief. "I want to do this. But I am grateful at the idea of help. I wouldn't mind relying on you enough that I have to give up a bit less of my life."

"I was sure you'd say something like that, and I have to admit that was what I was hoping for. I’m almost certain it’s the right thing for Sherlock, and I’m not so sure it isn’t the right thing for you as well. I'll warn you that if you and Sherlock disappear right when you need support, so help me, Mycroft Holmes, I'm going to barge into your life and give you the support anyway."

Mycroft nods.

"I'm really not joking here. Parenting is hard under the best of circumstances, and you can't see the best of circumstances from where the two of you are starting at. We're talking about the raising of a little boy who has been tortured by his sister." He downs his drink of whiskey again, but this time doesn't refill the cup. "You have to let me be part of this for your sake as well as Sherlock's."

"I am fully aware of my own shortcomings," Mycroft says. "God knows I'm willing to accept all the help that comes my way. I've never been in charge of Sherlock for a single hour, and now I'm in charge of him forever."

Uncle Rudy pats his back. "You'll do right by him. You will. But I want to be clear about how far this offer extends. If you need someone to watch him all of the school holiday, I'll be here. If you need a weekend off? An afternoon? You just need me to bring dinner, whatever, you let me know." He clears his throat again. "When it comes to your trust fund, of course, I'll turn it over to you right away. Both of them."

"Just mine," Mycroft corrects.

"No," Rudy says. "You're raising Sherlock, and you can take money out of his account for whatever you need."

Mycroft considers. "Perhaps for school tuition then if he agrees, but I'm not about to start charging my little brother for every pence I spend on raising him. Thank you. I know my parents hadn't intended to turn it over to me until the typical age of twenty-five."

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, Mycy. I've not worried about you wasting it."

"I appreciate everything, Uncle Rudy. I plan on taking you up on the offer whenever we need a babysitter. The list of people that Sherlock trusts is pretty short right now."

"I imagine that trust thing will take some time," Rudy says, offering to fill Mycroft's glass again. Mycroft shakes his head but downs the rest of his glass, drinking as his uncle had been rather than the dainty sips he's favored up until now. "Well, we should probably sleep as long as he does. Do you want me to stay the night?"

"We'll be fine," Mycroft assures him.

"All right. I'll be by in the morning," Rudy says, taking Mycroft's glass from him, and setting it down. "Is there anything else that I can do for you?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "There is really nothing that can make it better."

"That is true." Rudy says gravely.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a nightmare.

The only sign that Sherlock is having a nightmare is the fact that his breath increases in speed. It breaks Mycroft's heart that he doesn't even feel safe to scream in the middle of a nightmare.

"Sherlock, it's okay, you are safe,” he says choosing not to touch him after all he’s been through with their sister.

“No," Sherlock says. "I know she's here."

"She's not, I promise," Mycroft says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's never going to hurt you again. I won't let her."

"No," Sherlock insists, still near tears.

"Will it be better if we search the room?" Mycroft asks, glancing at the copper in the corner.

"That would be silly," Sherlock says in a tone which clearly means yes.

"Well, silly or not, let's do it."

Sherlock smiles at him, but it's a weak smile. The cop lets out a deep sigh before going through the motions of looking in the bathroom, the closet, behind the curtains, and under the bed.

"Every time I woke up it was either pain or a puzzle which I never solved quickly enough to avoid the pain. I don't...I don't understand what to do when I open my eyes, and there is nothing bad happening," Sherlock whimpers.

"I can understand that considering the fact that the last time you woke up some really bad things happened," Mycroft says as his brother pulls away from the hug. "Do you want me to stay in this bed tonight?"

"No, I think I'm all right now. Just having you in the room, it soothes me."

Mycroft returns to his bed and looks at Sherlock in concern.

"Is it going to hurt this bad forever?" Sherlock asks his brother.

"No," Mycroft says firmly. "But I don't think that it’s going to feel better right away either.

***

Greg no sooner makes it into the hotel room with a box of donuts then Mycroft pulls him into the bathroom. Greg looks at him startled and stands frozen in a way that Mycroft can't fully understand.

"Sherlock had a really bad nightmare last night. He was certain that Eurus was in the room with us."

Greg blinks, and then takes a breath, seeming quite surprised that this is what Mycroft wants to talk about. Mycroft can't figure out for the life of him what else would have been important enough for them to talk about. "Well, I think that's normal after everything that he's been through."

"I know," Mycroft says, shamed because he'd somehow managed to make his brother's trauma all about him, and here was Greg, who wasn't even related to Sherlock, pointing out how much the boy had been through.

"It's okay to be upset or alarmed by it," Greg says softly, as if he is reading Mycroft's thoughts.

Mycroft looks at him with gratitude and relief. "I know what she did to him. It's not that I didn't believe him, but it's different...well. I can't claim to have seen it, but I did see what his face looked like as he was reliving it, and it was already more than I could handle. Jesus, he was so scared he just about had me convinced to jump under the bed with a knife.

Greg nods. "That's just as natural as Sherlock having nightmares, and I'm really glad you talked to me about it. It's important that you take care of yourself as well as others."

Mycroft blushes. That's really not how he was understanding it. He didn't want to look all needy and damaged, especially not in front of Officer Lestrade, although he didn't really want to think about the reason behind that particular fact.

" I was serious that I appreciated you doing this. I want you to keep talking to me when you need to, okay? It's the first time that I've dealt with something like this on the job. I'll need some help too."

Then Greg steps back to give Mycroft twice as much room to get out of the bathroom than he really needs. Mycroft hadn't showered that morning, but he hadn't thought that he'd smelled that badly.

***

Mycroft is determined to start off his first day taking care of his brother with being responsible. He cajoles his brother into eating a good chunk of his full breakfast, although it does take another visit to the cook staff. Then he calls his brother's school and arranges to pick up his homework at the end of the week. He also stresses the importance of contacting the police the moment that Eurus arrives at school. Of course, there is not much chance of a child murderer showing up at school, but he is still angry at himself for not having warned them the day before.

He makes the call to his university next. He is transferred to four different people before he finally finds someone who can actually withdraw him from the school. He's exhausted when he's done with all of it and gives in enough to let himself fall backward on the bed.

"Did you just drop out of school?" Sherlock asks him in shock.

"I really don't want to talk about it," Mycroft says closing his eyes.

He should have known that his brother wouldn't have let it go. "You can't do that. I won't let you."

"Honestly, Sherlock, It's not a big deal. My school is too far away, and it's not practical right now. Besides, you can't just take time off when you are at the university level like when you’re in secondary school."

"You'll go back though?" Sherlock asks hopefully.

Mycroft exhales, a bit frustrated. "Sherlock, I think we both know that I don't really need to go to school. I already know more than they can teach me." Or at least the things that he knows can't be taught.

"By that logic I don't need to go to school either," Sherlock says with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, the law and you differ on that matter," Mycroft replies with a well-worn sigh.

"If you aren't going to school than neither am I," Sherlock says with steely eyes glaring at his brother. This is bad. Sherlock's tantrums blew themselves out if they were ignored long enough, but this.... calm stubborn Sherlock...that was something to be reckoned with.

"Don't be a child, Sherlock. You are going to go back to school as soon as it is safe for you to do so."

"No," Sherlock replies rolling over, already bored by this argument that he is confident he’s won.

Mycroft decides that the only way out of this is going to be the truth. Besides, even though he hates to admit it his brother is getting older, and this tragedy is aging him as much as it’s aging Mycroft. He'd told the psychologist that he would do better if he treated Sherlock as if he were an adult, and Mycroft realizes that he should probably take his own advice. "Sherlock, if you don't go back to school as soon as you are able to, they are going to take you away from me. I don't think that you are quite that petty."

Sherlock's face falls, and the next thing he says is quiet and somewhat apologetic. "Mycroft, I don't want you to give up your whole life for me. That's a burden that I would crumble under. It would probably be better if I was taken away than both of us being destroyed by staying together. I refuse to be the reason that your life is ruined."

Mycroft makes a little huffing sound, and even to his own ears it sounds like pain. "Sherlock, you are not ruining my life. Don't be ridiculous. Your coming into my life is a good thing, even if it happened in a terrible way." He sighs, accepting that he is not going to win this argument no matter how much he tries. "Okay, look. I promise that I will go back to school. This will just be a semester off. Then I'll register for somewhere in town, locally."

"You mean you'll go to a far less prestigious school."

"I think, brother mine, that you can call this a compromise," Mycroft says with raised eyebrows.

"Fine," Sherlock says with his arms still crossed.

There is a knock on the door, which turns out to be Lestrade returning to officially relieve the other cop, and Mycroft can't help but grin at him. Mycroft makes a rather painful call to Professor Carlson, who had simply assumed that Mycroft had become so stressed from the party that he'd run off with no intention to ever return.

Professor Carlson tells him that giving up an internship like this is throwing away a promising future, and Mycroft has to remind himself that the man hadn't thought his future was all that promising a few days before. No, Mycroft reminds himself, he probably couldn't have made it in politics before his brother had become his priority, and so switching his focus from politics to his brother is no great loss.

There will be something in his future, to be sure, and Mycroft will just have to figure out what that something is.

***

Sherlock sees the threat of his sister in almost everything. He refuses to eat cashew chicken which has a single peanut on top. He sees coded messages in the frost on their second story window. Mycroft finds himself having to ban his brother from reading the newspapers due to the volume of coded messages Sherlock is convinced his sister is leaving in the classifieds.

Mycroft is worried his brother is seeing things that aren't there, but if he is perfectly honest with himself, he is forced to admit that he is just as frightened that his brother is picking up things which are actually there. His deepest fear is that the danger is just as clear as Sherlock sees, but to him remains too fogged over to recognize and protect his brother when a critical moment comes.

Mycroft tells his brother, dozens of times a day, that the threat is over now, that they can relax, and that Sherlock is safe, but he is unable to believe his own comforting words.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Signs of Eurus.

The next day, Mycroft heads to the university to sign a few forms to make his leaving of the university quite official and collect the things which are still in his flat. Sherlock pleads Mycroft to have Uncle Rudy do it as he has already done with the family house. Mycroft decides to go himself partly to get closure, and partly to get out of the hotel room for a few hours.

He offers to have Sherlock stay with Lestrade and Uncle Rudy while he goes with another officer, but his brother is unwilling to be separated for the long hours that it would take to make the round trip drive of two hours as well as the actual task.

Mycroft figures that the only way to do this is to do it as swiftly as possible so he packs himself up as quickly as he can. Sherlock gets nervous every so often, and they have to search the small flat as well as the hallway.

He freezes when he gets to the bedside table. He seriously considers not even mentioning it because he knows how much it would add to his brother’s terror. But Mycroft knows that he could not forgive himself if he let evidence which might help capture his sister slip through his fingers. Besides, the police need to know that the danger is even greater than they think.

"Lestrade," he says, waving the policeman over.

"Yeah?" Lestrade says, coming to stand next to him. Mycroft can tell by his face that he's fully expecting Mycroft to have some sort of emotional break down.

"This is not my book," Mycroft says, pointing to it.

"Okay, we'll run by the library on our way out," Lestrade says, clearly not understanding why this is so important.

"No, listen now,” Mycroft says with firmness in his voice. "I don't know how this book got to be here, apart from the fact that I know that I did not put it there."

"Oh," Sherlock says with sudden seriousness.

"And you’re certain that someone didn't just leave it laying around?" Lestrade asks.

"My flat is not exactly the sort of place that would attract a lot of guests. I've got a photographic memory, so I am very certain that it was not there when I left. The door’s been locked between then and now and I’m the only one who lives here. No roommates or help."

"Okay," Lestrade says with a falsely even voice. "Do you know what this might mean?"

Sherlock looks over their shoulders at the title of the book. "The Hobbit? That's a message from Eurus for sure. Mycroft used to read that to us at bedtime when we were little kids. I loved it, and that made Eurus really mad. She set it on fire one night while Mycroft was holding it, and that was the end of our bedtime stories."

Mycroft's stomach lurches at the way Sherlock tells all of this in a matter of fact voice. Not for the first time does Mycroft worry that Sherlock doesn't even realize how traumatic his childhood really was. The same, of course, can be said for Mycroft himself since he hadn't realized how horrible that moment was until it's repeated back to him.

"I know it's common for abuse victims to blame themselves for what happened, even when they didn't have any control over it," Lestrade says, looking at Mycroft.

"Reading my mind were you?" Mycroft asks with raised eyebrows.

"Apparently I'm good at it," Lestrade replies with a little half smile.

"I should have known. I was a fool to ignore all the clear signs, but I really believed that she only hated me."

"You were a kid when you read this book to them weren't you?" Lestrade asks with raised eyebrows.

"I was thirteen, perhaps fourteen," Mycroft admits, feeling his shoulders go loose even though he didn't even realize that they were tight.

"Too young to cope with what happened," Lestrade says with authority in his voice.

But Sherlock was younger, and much less able to cope. Eurus was young then, and it should have been easier for Mycroft to control her, correct the deviant behavior before it got out of hand. He just nods to Lestrade as if he's been completely convinced by the other man's arguments. He can tell by Lestrade's face that no one has been fooled.

"All right, I'll bag this, and you keep packing. You tell me if you see anything else that looks out of place or suspicious. Make sure you've got the most important things we can carry out of here. We’re not coming back anytime soon. We'll send in police officers for whatever we can't get out ourselves today."

"Mycroft, we have to go now," Sherlock says with absolute panic in his face. "She's been here, and we don't know if she’s going to be coming back.

"She's not here right now, Sherlock, and I don't want to have to come back. I want to get this place packed up as quickly as we can."

Sherlock sits with his back against the wall and looks between the door and the window growing more and more pale as time goes on. Mycroft throws his old life into boxes as quickly as he is able to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurus leaves some more presents for her brothers.

They rarely leave the hotel room in the days to come. It's the only place that Sherlock can relax even the slightest amount. There are very few places for someone to hide in the small room, and it's easy to check all of them quickly when Sherlock starts to feel uneasy. When Friday rolls around Mycroft goes to get his brother's homework with his little brother in tow. Sherlock never feels comfortable when his brother is out of sight.

When they return to the hotel room Sherlock freezes at the threshold.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft asks.

"The room smells like her," Sherlock says in utter terror, taking a step back into the hallway.

"Olfactory flash backs are nothing to be alarmed by, Sherlock. Your nose does not easily forget something that was threatening to you. It's nothing to worry about," Mycroft assures him.

Sherlock points to the table in the hotel room, and Mycroft walks over to it. There is a note there, scrawled in pen (thankfully not in the medium of blood she had used to paint on the wall of her house). It only read "Brother dear," but it was enough to make Mycroft's heart grow cold.

Lestrade does a rapid search of the room, under the beds, and behind the curtains before he goes into the obvious bathroom. Then he calls for back up, and it doesn't take long for the whole hotel to be full of people searching for Eurus.

She is nowhere to be found.

"We have to go to a different hotel," Sherlock says in terror.

"Of course," Mycroft says, pulling Sherlock toward him, and rubbing his back in comfort.

"Every night!" Sherlock says more frantically. “If she found us before she can do it again!”

"Yes, of course, we'll take care of it," Mycroft assures him, and he's alarmed that the tension hasn't left his brother's shoulders. This is only for a little bit, just until they catch his sister, he tells himself. Then they can begin their real lives. Then he'll be able to provide stability for his brother.

Their temporary life stretches on, though, so long that it becomes their real life. Sherlock does his homework, and each Friday they exchange it for a new set before doing their daily move of hotel rooms. They get used to the thrice daily switching of police guards, both brothers looking forward to forward each day for Lestrade's He always comes with a smile for Mycroft, and with some unsolved crime from history to get Sherlock's opinion on. Uncle Rudy comes to visit every other day, and Mycroft fills the rest of the time by inventing puzzles for his brother to solve.

Sherlock gets more comfortable eating, especially when Lestrade brings a meal at the beginning of his shift. He gets them from a different place each time, always far from the hotel. The three of them devise a rigorous rating scale for the take-away restaurants, and they make a London restaurant map with the rating of it each over the top of its location.

, Sherlock goes for Italian.

When Sherlock cries in the middle of the night, Mycroft crosses the gap between their beds to wake him up with hugs. Mycroft usually hates physical touch, but somehow holding his sobbing brother never bothers him.

This purgatory that they are in begins to feel rather normal.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurus strikes again.

Sherlock wakes up with the cold dread in his stomach that he hasn't felt since the night that his parents died. He doesn't even consider doubting himself. "Mycroft!" he shouts, and his stomach sinks even faster when his brother doesn't immediately answer his call by bridging the terrifying gap between them. Sherlock vaults himself onto his brother's bed. Putting his fingers on his brother's jugular reminds him, very unpleasantly, of not finding his father’s weeks back. This time, though, his fingers do not sink into a bloody neck, and there is a pulse under his fingers. He checks the breath next, with a finger under his nose. The cop in the corner is already calling for assistance.

Sherlock knows it's not exactly productive to yell at the man, but that doesn't stop him from saying, "You were supposed to be guarding us! Watching us! You failed." Then he turns lamentingly to his brother, "Mycroft, wake up! You can't let her win, not like this! Please!"

***

"He's going to wake up, Sherlock," Uncle Rudy quietly assures him in the hospital. "Come on, and let me get you something to eat.

"I'm not going to leave him alone!" Sherlock shouts stubbornly.

"Well, dear, this did happen when you were with him, so I think we can both agree that feeling is not exactly rational. Your brother is going to be very cross with both of us if you are not properly cared for while he's in hospital. You've got to eat something."

Sherlock snorts "I'm not going to eat! Not while my brother is in danger from some poison that she managed to slip into food that we got through a complicated system that we thought was safe."

"I hate to break the news to you, nephew mine, but not eating can be just as fatal as poison," Uncle Rudy says with his very best impression of a patient voice.

Sherlock sighs, then gives in. "Bring me something, and I will try to eat it. Mind you, no promises."

"You won't come with me?" his uncle asks suspiciously.

Sherlock shakes his head. Rudy is more than a bit hurt that the teenager feels safer with his unconscious brother than him, but it just proves that they had made the right choice when it came to custody.

"All right, I'll be right back."

As soon as Uncle Rudy is far enough away not to overhear Lestrade, who’d been first into the hotel room as soon as the call had gone out, says, "You were a bit rude there. Especially considering the fact that you have absolutely no intention of eating whatever he comes back with."

"It was the only way that I could get him to leave me alone."

"Well, he doesn't deserve to be treated like that, and I think you know better. And he's right. You're not being logical right now. I'm the one that fetched the poisoned food. Yet you still trust me to guard your brother."

"Yes, but I'm still not about to let you feed me."

"You know that you actually can't go forever without food, right? What is your plan here?" Lestrade asks with concern.

"You're right," Sherlock says. "It's time for a desperate plan to catch her. You have to use me to set a trap."

"Absolutely not! That's child endangerment."

"I'm not eating until Eurus is caught, so that gives you a bit of a deadline, doesn't it? We've been hiding from her for the better part of a month, and nothing’s been done about her. So, if we don't do this at it's child endangerment as well."

"Sherlock, for the love of God, this is not a time to be a dramatic teenager., you need to grow up, and eat something!" Lestrade says in frustration.

"If you won't let me use myself as bait, what about Mycroft?" Sherlock asks. is voice gets quieter. "You know that he would agree if he was awake."

Lestrade knows it’s true, but he doesn't want to let the boy know that.

"Look, I know I've already convinced you, so I don't really want to continue to argue. What's more I know how Eurus thinks. She's not going to be fooled just by me walking out of the room. She knows that I'd never do that on my own. You're going to have to take me by force and make a show of it. -shout about how it's for my own good and what not. She'll buy that. Then all it's going to take is for the copper left in Mycroft's room to go on break and leave him alone for a minute, and she's bound to do something."

"All of this assumes that your sister is watching closely enough to catch the show."

"If we stage the big scene in front of the hospital, she’ will see it. There is no way she could have done what she's done without following us or having someone else follow us."

"If we do this, Sherlock, you've got to eat right away. Even if it's trash food from a vending machine, yeah?" Lestrade says seriously.

"I accept your terms. As long as I don't have to eat until after she is caught."

"Nope, we are only doing this if you agree to eat whether or not it works. If we try your plan you eat."

Sherlock nods, "Yes, but not until after we’ve seen if it worked. Honestly, I wasn't expecting you to be so easy to convince."

"I don't like the idea of using your brother without him having a say in it, but I feel like I know what he would say. We'll put in as many safeguards as we can, and it isn't as if we kept your brother safe when we weren't using him as bait."

Sherlock had been accused of lacking empathy when he was a child, and perhaps most people would have picked up on Greg's guilt earlier, but Sherlock doesn't miss it now, "You know it wasn't your fault, what happened to him."

"I brought him food which put him in the hospital, Sherlock. It's very nice of you to try and let me off the hook, but it's not necessary."

"You blaming yourself for Eurus poisoning Mycroft doesn't make any more sense than me blaming myself for her killing my parents," Sherlock says.

"You don't...do you?" Greg says seriously. Sherlock turns his face from Greg, ever so slightly, and the other man sighs. "I'll try to let myself off the hook if you do too, because I suppose you’re right, but in both cases it was really Eurus that is to blame."

Sherlock sighs, "When I...felt like this before...I'd ask Mycroft for a hug," he says.

Lestrade walks across the room to give comfort to the boy.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They try to trick Eurus.

Sherlock is a pretty good actor, and it certainly doesn't hurt that he's been saving up snark for a month since his parents died, unwilling to unleash it on the brother with whom he is still trying to repair a relationship.

He snarls, and shouts, and actually growls like an animal as Lestrade drags him from the hotel.

"You need to get some food in you, Sherlock! And if the only way we can do that is by dragging your sorry arse to a mental hospital than by God that's what I'm going to do."

"I have to stay with my brother!" Sherlock wails, grabbing onto the door frame in an unplanned maneuver that holds up dozens of innocent passersby.

"Right now I think you're in every bit as much danger as he is, and I can at least do something about your pathological disregard for your own health. If you wanted to stay with him, you should have eaten some food while you had the bloody chance."

Sherlock remains in character, pitching a fit for the first few blocks in the car beyond the hospital and then he breaks character with a chuckle.

"God, I just about believed you for a moment back there!" Lestrade exclaims.

"Let's just hope for Eurus it was more than 'just about,'" Sherlock says seriously as his fingers fidget over the edge of the police car door. Lestrade wants to tell him that everything is going to be okay, but he doesn't know that, and the kid really doesn't need platitudes right now. Greg hopes that this trip will mean something. Otherwise he’s making a little kid spend a few hours in a psych ward for nothing other than Sherlock’s insistence that “it has to look real”.

***

Marty has known Greg for years, and he'd still thought that the other man must have been joking. Surely, he wasn't really lying in wait in a hospital bathroom for a little girl in pigtails do some crazy ninja shit in order to kill her brother who is lying in a coma . When Greg had assured Marty he wasn't joking that, Marty was forced to believe him. Greg did not joke about things this important.

He'd been prepared for something pretty weird but he wasn't expecting the little girl to be able to drop down through the vent. She grabs a pillow and puts it over the unconscious man's face before Marty can even react. It's only a second before he's got a gun trained on her, and says in a stern voice, "Hit the floor."

"Oh, very good," she says, turning and dropping the pillow. It's still on the bed, but after a careful check Marty is sure that it's not preventing the man from breathing so he leaves it to focus on other matters. "Who thought of the idea?" the girl asks Marty, "Are you really asleep or simply being dramatic?" she asks, turning her head back to Mycroft. When he doesn't respond she grins, "Oh, you really are out cold then? It must have been baby brother. Well, who would have thought that he would be the one to outsmart me!"

"Get down on the floor," Marty says in his sternest voice, "Now!"

"It really would be easier if you shot me, wouldn't it? For everyone?"

Mycroft's eyes open at the words. , the second or so he'd gone without oxygen was enough to startle his mind awake. He'd still pretended to be asleep, but his sister's words make him decide that it was time to intervene. He knocks the pillow towards her head, and in the startled moment when she is half turned away from the police officer, Marty tackles her to the floor, pulling out several of his IV lines.

"Where is my brother?" Mycroft when she is on the floor.

"He's fine," Marty assures him.

"Why would they put him in a different hospital room? I want to see him! God only knows what's happened to him while you were focused on me!" Mycroft says, trying to pull the disconnect himself from the remaining IV lines.

"He's not sick!" Marty says from the floor as the backup flies into the room. As Eurus is dragged out of the room Marty stays behind. "He never got sick. He'll come back soon. He won't like it if you've hurt yourself. Now you just calm down. I’ll get some nurses in to fix whatever you messed up with all your thrashing about.”

Mycroft obediently pushes the nurse button, and sits back to take this man's advice, but he's not going to feel comfortable until he has his brother in his arms again.

He only has to wait a bit more than fifteen minutes before Sherlock leaps into his bed to hug him.

"You might be a bit gentler with someone who's in the hospital," Greg suggests.

Sherlock pulls away with wide eyes., "I'm sorry! God! Did I hurt you?"

"No, no, it's all right," Mycroft assures him, grabbing his brother by the wrist in order to pull him in close. "I feel much better now that I've got a hug from you and can see for myself that you’ were all right. I wouldn't mind getting another hug in fact."

Sherlock obliges his brother, but this time he does it a lot more carefully.

"Perhaps I'm still recovering, but I don't understand what happened."

"The take-away was poisoned."

"Why didn't the two of you get ill as well?"

"They did lab work on what was left of the food, and yours was the only one she put anything in."

"Well, I'm glad she didn't hurt you," Mycroft says, but it's clear that he is wounded by the fact that his sister attempted to signal him out for death.

Sherlock curls up next to him, and his thin body only takes up little room in the hospital bed. Sherlock starts to cry, and Mycroft slowly rubs his back. "It's okay. She's done, and she's not going to hurt us anymore."

"I'm sorry I used you for bait!" Sherlock sobs out guiltily. "I couldn't think of another way to catch her. I thought it wouldn't bother me that much, but I was so worried that it was all going to go wrong, and something terrible was going to happen to you! She put a pillow too your face and she might have killed you just like she did Mum and Dad!"

"Nonsense. You left me in capable hands. The officer that Lestrade picked out was a good one." Mycroft smiles at Lestrade, who is still lingering in the corner even though his shift ended almost an hour ago, and the Holmes brothers no longer need police protection. "Nothing was going to happen to me. Sherlock, I know that you didn't get to ask me, but if I'd had a choice in the matter, I would have picked the same thing that you picked for me. It was the right call. I would have done anything to defend my baby brother. Now Eurus is in jail, and we get to feel safe, and go back to living our lives."

"It doesn't feel real," Sherlock whispers.

"Well, it is," Mycroft assures him. "I watched them cart her away.”

"I shouldn't have approved the plan, but it was a little bit desperate. Your brother was refusing to eat," Lestrade says apologetically.

"God, how long has it been since he ate?" Mycroft asks in alarm.

"Relax. Lestrade already made me eat a package of crisps before he would let me come back to you," Sherlock says in a bored voice.

"Sherlock, you've got to have a proper meal," Mycroft objects, trying to stand up.

"You've only been out for a bit over a day. The fact that your brother wasn't eating is what convinced me to take rather dramatic action," Lestrade says.

"Look, I'll eat another bit of pre-packaged food tonight, and tomorrow I'll eat almost anything that you put in front of me."

"Okay," Mycroft agrees, and then on impulse he leans forward, and places a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. "I'm glad you are safe," Mycroft whispers.

"I’m glad you’re okay too!" Sherlock exclaims. "God, when you wouldn't wake up that morning it was one of the worst moments of my life. I thought I'd lost you just like Mummy and Daddy."

"You didn't lose me, and we are safe now," Mycroft says warmly.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade makes a social call.

Sherlock crosses his arms and glares at the listing for a flat that his brother puts in front of his face.

Mycroft sighs. "All right. I If you hate this one as much as the others can you at least give me a reason this time? I'm not going to get better at picking out places for you until you tell me what I am doing wrong."

Sherlock just shakes his head.

Mycroft sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand. "Should we move back into the house, then? It's not a crime scene anymore, and the cleaners will be done with it in a couple of days."

"I don't want to live there," Sherlock says with an expression of horror on his face. "I don't want to live in a flat yet either. When that happens, it will be real, and I'm not ready for all of this to be real yet."

"Okay," Mycroft says, taking a deep breath before he asks the next question. "Do you know when you'll be ready?"

"Maybe in a month or two?" Sherlock asks.

"Okay. Perhaps we can at least stay in one hotel for that time?" Mycroft says.

"I’m also not ready to go back to school."

"We can do with that for a bit longer, especially when you are still getting all of your work done. How about we give that just two weeks?"

Sherlock agrees with a nod of his head.

There is a knock and Mycroft goes to the hotel room door. He's shocked to see Lestrade. He opens the door, transfers the take-away from Lestrade’s hand to the small table in the hotel room, and then pushes Lestrade into the bathroom.

"What's wrong?" he asks softly.

Lestrade seems to be having a bit of difficulty forming a sentence, his mouth opening and closing. For some reason that Mycroft can't quite understand he seems to keep his eyes focused on Mycroft's lips. He can't be trying to read them; because they aren't moving anymore.

"Nothing is wrong” Lestrade finally gets out.

Mycroft sinks down so that he is sitting on the edge of the tub, relief etching itself into his bent over posture. "I was certain that she'd escaped."

"I didn't mean to scare you. I probably should have called first. I can... leave if that's what you would prefer."

"No, of course not. It's good that you came," Mycroft says, standing up and putting on his socially appropriate face. Lestrade has never seen his face in the form of a mask before. It’s always been honest and real around Lestrade, and more often than you would guess based on the situation it was typically wearing an honest smile. He doesn't like this look on Mycroft's face, and finds himself really wishing that he hadn't come.

"I just missed spending time with the two of you. I understand if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with. I might remind you of a part of your life that you would really rather forget.”

"Please stay," Mycroft smiles, a genuine one this time. "Despite this unsightly bit of panic I missed you as well." Mycroft is not sure why the copper would have an interest in being in the same room as him when he isn't being paid to do it, but he believes that is apparently the truth. Lestrade grins at Mycroft's words, and this causes Mycroft's face to flush.

He reaches behind Lestrade in order to open the door, and they shuffle past each other in the tight bathroom. Lestrade doesn't move to give him more room and is looking at Mycroft's lips again. Mycroft could kiss him now, without even moving his feet, he realizes, and then he scolds himself for this ridiculous and irrelevant fact.

The takeaway is sitting on the bed untouched, and Sherlock is in the corner of the room with his earphones on listening to his Walkman.

"What on Earth?" Mycroft mutters. Lestrade seems to be holding in a smile that way people do when people understand something, and they aren’t about to tell you what you are missing. Mycroft touches his brother on the shoulder, and the boy jumps before taking off his headphones. "That was short!"

"What was?" Mycroft asks and Lestrade turns away, no longer able to keep his laughter in.

Then the realization of what his brother thinks Mycroft was doing in the bathroom with Lestrade rushes upon him, causing heat to come to Mycroft’s ears. "Oh for God's sake, Sherlock! There was nothing inappropriate going on in the bathroom."

"I agree," Sherlock says evenly meeting his brother’s eyes. "There is nothing inappropriate about an adult snogging his boyfriend."

Mycroft's mouth flies open, and he is too shocked to respond. Lestrade’s voice responds to the boy in even tones. "You’re absolutely right, Sherlock, there would be nothing wrong with that. It just isn’t what was happening. Thank you, though. I know as a bisexual that not everyone is as accepting."

"Like Mycroft," Sherlock says, glaring at his brother.

Mycroft's eyes widen.

"Expressing shock at your little brother thinking you were snogging your friend in the hotel bathroom is a long way from homophobia, Sherlock," Greg says.

The color drains from Sherlock's face. "If you really weren't kissing in the bathroom then Eurus really has"

"For goodness sake, you and your brother are more alike than either of you would like to admit. Your sister has not escaped, and I'm not here on any sort of business. The two of you act as if you've never had a friend before."

"We haven't," Sherlock says with a shrug while Mycroft feels the color in his ears intensify.

"Well, that just proves that people are the idiots that you are always saying they are," Greg says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Now, are we going to eat this meal that I brought, or are we going to let it go cold? It's from the top-rated place on our list."

"But that one is miles out of your way in traffic," Sherlock points out.

Lestrade just smiles at him, and Mycroft has to admit that his heart skips a beat at the idea of this man running around London just to bring a little bit of joy to their lives, especially since him just being there would have been enough to make them happy. They each take their meal and sit cross legged on the bed to eat it. Sherlock on his own bed, and Mycroft and Greg sharing Mycroft's-a respectable distance apart of course. Mycroft's mind is reeling at the idea that he is sharing a bed with Gregory. Gregory who sometimes likes men. He hopes that Greg knows he's not homophobic. He's not, he promises himself, even though his actions seem to suggest it. He would like to make that clear to Greg but announcing ‘I’m not homophobic’ usually doesn’t accomplish that. He knows it's possible to be homophobic and gay, but Mycroft doesn't think he is. He’s pretty sure that his self-hatred actually comes from another corner, although he wonders if some of the roots of his self-hatred really aren't hidden somewhere in his sexuality.

They laugh and talk as they eat, and it's the closest thing to normal that Mycroft has had since his parent's died. If he's really being honest with himself it might just be the closest thing to normal that he's ever had in his life.

Mycroft wants this moment to last forever, and a part of his mind is also savoring that moment in the bathroom which has new shades of meaning now that he knows that the man he was kissing distance from is bisexual.

Mycroft has suspected himself as gay since his early teenage years simply because he was far less alarmed at the idea of romance with his own gender than others, but he'd never been quite sure. After all, the idea of being with a man had alarmed him, and he certainly didn’t think about it in delight like other people seemed to.

The idea of having romance with Gregory is the first time that he's actually felt no alarm whatsoever. Not that it’s likely to happen. Just because Lestrade likes men doesn't mean that he likes Mycroft. Mycroft honestly can't imagine anyone liking him that way.

No, it will be safer if Mycroft continues to like Lestrade from afar. It’s too risky the other way. First of all, Lestrade might not like him romantically, and that would ruin the Holmes brothers’ very first friendship. Secondly, people had all sorts of expectations when it came to the physical aspects of romance. If he understood things correctly this was doubly true for young men who liked other men. He doesn't want to set Lestrade up for disappointment if it turns out that Mycroft doesn't want to give him all he would naturally expect.

His thoughts pull up short when Mycroft notices that his brother and Lestrade are staring at him. "I'm sorry, would you be so kind as to repeat the question?" he asks, looking down at his dinner as if it were the most interesting thing that he'd ever seen in his life.

"I just asked you if you were all right." Lestrade's voice is kind, but Mycroft detects a touch of playful laughter underneath it.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be okay?" Mycroft asks.

"Probably because you've been staring at Lestrade as if he were a piece of meat for the last five minutes," Sherlock offers.

Mycroft's ears turn red again, and he tries to think of something he could say which would get all of them out of this mess.

Lestrade grins at him. "Really it's okay." Then his eyes stay upon Mycroft's for just a few seconds longer than would be strictly necessary.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's bed isn't empty.

The biggest shock Mycroft has when it comes to parenting is that it isn't as difficult as he'd thought it was going to be. Sherlock’s intelligence qualifies as a special need even without the unimaginable abuse from his little sister, but Mycroft finds himself not quite knowing what to do when the whole thing turns out to be so much easier than he'd expected.

Sherlock is still afraid of eating, which is no more than understandable, really. He only eats two meals a day and has a lot of questions about where the food comes from. The idea of making their food at home has such appeal to Sherlock that it helps Mycroft convince him to move into a flat. Often the brothers learn the new skill of cooking together, and if the food sometimes tastes a bit off Sherlock never complains

Sherlock goes to school without objection, and when Mycroft swings by to check on him nervously a few times during the first week, it’s quite clear that Sherlock does not believe that he needs that level of monitoring or support. Sherlock continues to do the homework that the dedicated teachers give him. He starts to do research after school in his own areas of interest. One of these is shaping up to be a high-quality, high school level paper. The other could easily be turned into a master's thesis if Sherlock bothered to format it instead of scribbling it on the back of take-out containers. Although, to be fair, Mycroft would be a little surprised if it passed the university’s board of ethics.

Sherlock is even making his bed on a regular basis. Mycroft is pretty bloody sure that Sherlock Holmes has never made his bed before, not even once by accident.

Their new flat is a sleek, modern thing with far more space than they actually need, but is still just a fraction of the size that their parents’ house had been.

Mycroft allows himself to fall into the belief that parenting his little brother is not going to be as big of a change as he'd first thought. Then one night he is startled awake by the awareness that there is another person in his room. It takes him several moments to realize that the other person in question is his brother.

"Sherlock! What's wrong?" he exclaims, leaping out of bed.

"Nothing...sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I never should have woken you up!" Sherlock exclaims.

"You're fine, come on in," Mycroft says, tapping on the bed next to him.

"I'm being silly," Sherlock whispers into the night, rocking back and forth across the threshold.

“You're not silly," Mycroft says, pulling back the blankets in order to make room for him. "You can come in here whenever you need to."

Sherlock rushes into the room and covers himself with the warm blankets. Then he rolls over to face the wall away from Mycroft.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Mycroft asks softly.

"Not really, but...sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, and it's really bad. I know she's not lurking in the closet or under the bed. But it still feels like she is there. When we were at the hotel, I could hear you breathing in the other bed, and it made me feel safe. It was enough to get me back to sleep. I thought I was ready for my own bed, but I guess not. It's been a couple of hours, and I can't get back to sleep."

"Oh, Sherlock, you should have come in here right away! This was why you didn't want to move out of the hotel, wasn’t it?"

Sherlock nods.

"You could have just told me that. I would have understood. You can come in here whenever you need to, day, night, or middle of the night. In fact, if you want to share a room we can arrange it. I would much rather do that than have you scared and alone in your room."

"Thank you," Sherlock says seriously. "I don't think that's needed. But I am grateful for the chance to come in here whenever memories of Eurus get to be a bit too much for me."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft decides it's time to add to his family.

Mycroft has no idea what criteria one is meant to use in order to pick out a dog. He can't see any real difference between them. They are all wiggling, eager, and similar in that elusive thing which people call 'cuteness', but which Mycroft views as mostly consisting of symmetry and large eyes. He's just decided to ruin the surprise and bring his brother round to pick out the dog after school when a long sigh draws his attention to the corner of the cage to an animal he hadn’t noticed before. She's an Irish setter puppy. It's clear that some of the other dogs in the cage are her siblings, but she's not falling all over herself in order to get his attention like they are.

"Hey, girl," he calls to her.

She gives him a look of cool derision, and then turns her head away.

"Come on," Mycroft prompts, moving his fingers in a way to suggest that he has a treat in them. The dog lets out a long sigh and makes her way over all the while giving him a look which clearly implies that she doesn't believe him for a minute, and also that such trickery is only what one can expect from humans. She leans through the bars in order to nudge his hand gently, and he pets her, concentrating his efforts on the area behind her ears which his research suggests is the area that dogs most like affection demonstrated on.

"This one," Mycroft says with decision, the whole process of choosing a pet no longer a mystery to him.

"She's a bit of a loner that one," the volunteers says as if those words were magically going to make him change his mind about wanting the dog.

"I'm certain that she’s the right one for my family," Mycroft declares.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock mets his new dog.

"Sherlock, there is a bit of a surprise waiting for you when we get up to our flat," Mycroft says . "I'm proud of how well you've been doing lately, and I wanted to get you a bit of a reward for it."

"Is it a telescope?" Sherlock asks with his eyes shining. 

"No, it's better than that."

Sherlock sighs . "That's not possible . A  telescope is the thing that I want most in the world right now,"  He lean s back in his seat as if he's bored to death.

"Well, if you don't like your surprise more than a telescope, we'll trade it in," Mycroft says with a wide grin aimed at his brother.

Of course any idea of sending the dog back disappears the moment Sherlock opens the door to reveal  a dog glaring at them from behind a chair . Sherlock wraps his arm around her, and she struggles to get free.

"Dogs don't like to be held tightly like that . G ive her a bit of space , hmm ? " his brother lightly prompts.

"You're serious?" Sherlock asks , looking at him in shock. "I really get to keep her?" The dog uses the moment of distraction in order to escape.

Mycroft chuckles . "What kind of a monster do you think I am that I would bring home a dog just to tell you that you couldn't keep her? Of course you can! Although I do expect that you will do something to help with her care."

"Of course," Sherlock says quickly. "I'll do all the work. You know , I always wanted a dog, but I couldn't have one, because..."

"Daddy's allergies," Mycroft says grimly . "I know, but luckily neither of us inherited them."

"Would it be too morbid if I decided to name her Red Beard?" Sherlock asks with a frown.

It takes Mycroft a moment to realize what his brother is referencing. Ah , yes . Victor, Sherlock's friend, the one  that Eurus had wanted to kill, had taken the nickname 'Red Beard' when they were playing pirate together. "I think if you like that name, if it feels right to you , that's what we should call her." Perhaps he should nudge Sherlock to contact Victor, or maybe push the idea of friendship more generally. Just because friendship  i s his own personal nightmare doesn't mean that it's the same for his little brother. After all, Sherlock enjoy s spending time with Lestrade, and he would probably enjoy someone closer to his own age a great deal more.

"Does Lestrade like dogs?" Sherlock asks very seriously.

"I'm not sure , Sherlock," Mycroft says.

"Don't you think that you should have asked him before we got one?" Sherlock says with a scandalized tone as he reaches for the spot behind Red Beard's ears that he's already discovered is the dog's favorite. "Maybe he's allergic just like Daddy."

"If he is we'll just go to see him  at  places that aren't the flat. It won't be the end of the world , Sherlock. ” Sherlock continues to look at his brother skeptically . Mycroft closes his eyes, and takes a long breath so  that he can begin to have this conversation with his brother. He is worried that he is not going to be able to make  Sherlock understand , m ostly because he does not completely understand it himself . "Sherlock, Lestrade and I are not actually dating. I don't know how you got that thought into your head, or why exactly it's so reluctant to leave, but you really are going to have to work a bit harder to  drop it . He's a good friend, and we're lucky to have him, but that's all it's going to be . I t's about time that you accepted it."

" But h e likes you," Sherlock says in a confused voice.

"Sherlock, he's a very kind man, and I don't think either of us have been around kind people quite enough to know what that is like. I really do think that is all that is going on."

"You like him too. You wouldn't stare at each other so much if you  both  didn't feel the same way. Would you?" Sherlock says , looking a bit worried and frightened.

"I like Lestrade as much as I like anyone, Sherlock. I'm not about to start dating right now though. It's been a bit of a year , hasn't it?" Mycroft asks , hoping that will be enough of an explanation for his little brother. Red Beard detects his distress  in his voice and takes a few steps toward him. When Mycroft turns to look at her she takes a few steps back.

"So, you're just taking a break from dating, but you've done it before?" Sherlock asks.

Mycroft scratches Red Beards ears for a few seconds before he answers . "No, I've never dated anyone before."

"Is that, because..."Sherlock looks at his brother seriously . "You don't think it's okay to like boys?"

"No," Mycroft says firmly . "That's not it at all. If I liked females I wouldn't date them either. I've just never felt the need to prioritize romance. Socializing of any kind has always been...a bit painful for me .”  Mycroft thinks that's rather understating the case, but it's still a lot for him to say before his brother.

"Mycroft , you'd be good at dating if that was something you wanted to do," his little brother says , wearing that look of admiration that Sherlock always used to wear when it came to his brother.

"I appreciate your confidence, but it's more than a bit misplaced in this case," Mycroft says with a grin.

"Do you like Lestrade though?" Sherlock presses.

Mycroft sighs . "I think Red Beard is asking for a walk, don't you?" Red Beard responds to the word 'walk' in such a way  that she  disguise s Mycroft's rather obvious lie. The animals shifts off his quite distain, and becomes a more typical eager wiggling beast.

"I know that you're avoiding the question," Sherlock says , donning his coat any way.

"Yes," Mycroft says , grabbing the dog's harness . "And there is a very good reason for that." Red Beard is so excited by the prospect of going on a walk that trying to get her into the harness turns into quite the wrestling match.

"I really don’t think you'd have to try that hard if you decided to date him. You could probably just smile, and he'd become putty in your hands," Sherlock offers with a smile.

"Thank you,  but  I'm not actually interested in getting dating advice from my little brother," Mycroft says , finally  managing to  snap the dog into her harness.

"If...I wanted to date," Sherlock  begins quietly. His brother looks upon him with alarm . "I'm not saying right now! But if I did...someday.... years from now," he adds at Mycroft's sharp  glance.. "Would you be angry if I dated...." Sherlock takes the leash from his brother, and Mycroft puts his coat on . "I mean...if it was a boy?" Sherlock looks over at Mycroft in terror.

"Oh, of course not, Sherlock," Mycroft says , warmly pulling his brother in for a hug . "I'm fine with whatever sexuality you are. I'm sorry if I ever made you worry that would matter to me!"

"But you don't date," Sherlock says , ignoring Red Beard who is growing more alarmed by the lack of walk ing .

"That's not about me being gay, and I'm sorry if you ever thought it was," Mycroft  explains, opening the door to the flat amongst the prancing of the dog . "I wasn't interested in people until quite recently, and my main concern is the fact that I am not very good at people. I am only making my first friend now, when I have reached the ripe old age of twenty. I ’ m sure I ’ ll get around to dating eventually, but I ’ m not ready for it yet."

"How long will I have to wait to date?" Sherlock says with a tone of despair.

“Oh, you don't have to be the same age I start at. This is not an Edwardian novel. Is this actually something that you want to do right now? Do you have someone in mind?"

"No, but...I like the idea of dating," Sherlock says.

"All right, well, I think that you should stick to friendship for a bit longer. You ’ re only thirteen years old. You can wait until you are sixteen. I expect you'll pick someone who is appropriately aged, within a year  of you  certainly, and I'd prefer six months."

"Fifteen?" Sherlock asks hopefully.

"Fifteen and a half," Mycroft  counters. "And we are not about to become one of those families who hide th e se sorts of things from each other. I will be meeting the boy, and I will be knowing when you are with him, and if..." he clears his throat . "I'll expect that you are going to be safe, and I'll get you whatever is needed to be safe."

"Jesus , Mycroft!" Sherlock says with his face flaming . "I wasn't talking about that! That's not what I want to do!"

"Okay , good, because you are very young to be thinking about that," Mycroft says , relieved that his brother is not all grown up yet. He'd actually prefer if his first purchase of condoms were not for his baby brother. The two of them focus on the dog for a while.

"Will I get to meet all the people that you date as well?"

"I think that's fair," Mycroft agrees.

"What do you think that Mummy and Daddy would have thought about this?" Sherlock asks . "Having two gay sons , I mean ?"

"I don't know, Sherlock," Mycroft says honestly.

"Clearly you thought that they would take it badly, or you would have told them," Sherlock says , looking up in to his brother's eyes with concern.

"You are misunderstanding why I didn't share this. I wasn't really keeping a secret. I didn't know myself for sure, and I certainly wasn't thinking about it very often. If I felt like I was bursting with the news, I would have told them. I wasn't scared to tell them. If I'd  wanted to bring  someone  home I would have, and until I did, I didn't really see the point of breaking the news to them."

"Now we ’ ll never know what they would have thought," Sherlock says , glumly giving the leash a little pull to stop Red Beard's very long , interested sniff.

"No, I suppose we never will, but we're not going to spend our lives thinking about it either. Okay? Our parents would have either been as happy about us as we are or they wouldn't deserve to love people as amazing as us. That's all there is to it."

Sherlock grins, and looks at any part of the world apart from his brother . "You know, if you dated Lestrade we could keep him forever."

"Oh, Sherlock, that's not really how that works. Many friendships last longer than romantic relationships. I'm quite sure that my first attempt at romance is unlikely to last very long. We have better odds of keeping Gregory in our lives if I don't date him."

"I want you to be happy though," Sherlock says.

Mycroft pulls his brother into a side hug . "I am happy, Sherlock."

Sherlock looks at him with a somber bit of disbelief as they resume walking and trip a bit over the dog , who  hadn’t been expecting them to begin moving again so soon . Red Beard bites the leash when it gives her an unexpected pull in an attempt to get her walking again.

"All right, perhaps I'm not excessively over the top happy just now, but that's nothing to do with the fact that I am not dating someone. My parents just died, and I found out that my sister," Mycroft clears his throat . "You are simply going to have to stop  parenting me so much. You've got the whole thing backward. I ’ m the one who is supposed to be worrying about you."

"You don't have anyone to worry about you though," Sherlock points out.

"That's because I ’ m old enough to worry about myself," Mycroft tells him.

"Honestly, I don't think you ’ re  so great at  it ," Sherlock says , bending down to pick up Red Beard's 'present' with a plastic bag . "But if you get Lestrade to take care of you , he can have the job ."

Mycroft wonders if his brother's argument doesn't have a touch of merit to it after all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock outs his brother

"You got a dog!" Greg exclaims, eyeing Red Beardwho is huddled in the corner of the room

"Do you like dogs?" Sherlock asks with concern.

"Sure," Lestrade says, sitting down on the couch the dog is hiding behind in an attempt to coax her our. "Are you a good boy?" he asks in a funny voice.

"Girl," Sherlock corrects.

"Oh," Lestrade says seriously. "I'm very sorry to misgender you. What's her name then?"

"Red Beard."

"Oh, you're a pirate, are you, girl?" he asks.

Sherlock sighs in relief. "I was really worried you weren't a dog person, but you are and you're not allergic, are you?"

Greg stands up. "No, but the two of you don't have to base your whole lives around me. There’s no reason to worry that much.”

"Did you know I was gay?" Sherlock asks suddenly.

Greg's eyebrows raise. "I didn't. Thank you for trusting me with that."

"Mycroft is gay too," Sherlock informs him.

Greg's eyes flit over to Mycroft, who is turning red, and sputtering behind his brother before he says, "You know, Sherlock, it's not kind to out people without their permission, okay? It could even be dangerous if you did it to the wrong person."

"But I knew that you weren't the wrong person," Sherlock says in confusion.

"You were right about that, okay? But it was your brother's story to tell, and it was bad form to tell for him.”

"Okay. I'll go walk Red Beard," Sherlock says, sitting down on the floor next to her in order to do battle with her harness.

"All right. Just give me a minute to come with you," Mycroft begins.

"You don't need to go with me all of the time, Mycroft," Sherlock says seriously.

"Sherlock, you can't just wonder around London by yourself!" Mycroft exclaims in horror.

"Mycroft, I’m thirteen years old and Eurus is in jail. I think I can walk around the block without supervision," he says, handing the leash to Greg while he puts on his own coat.

"It's actually a good sign that he's not afraid, after everything that he's been through," Greg points out.

"I'll be going around the block three times, unless you think that you'll need more time," Sherlock says with a cheeky grin.

Mycroft glares at him.

"I could wear my headphones when I get back, if need be,” Sherlock continues.

"Go, and if you are not back in twenty minutes we will come looking for you," Mycroft says. "And don't worry about interrupting anything if you come back early. Your brother would actually feel a bit more comfortable, I think, if you made it a short trip. It might make him more likely to trust you doing similar things in the future."

"Okay," Sherlock says, fleeing his brother's glare by leaving the house.

Greg smiles at Mycroft when Sherlock is gone. "I'm sorry that Sherlock made you uncomfortable with his clumsy attempt at a parent trap."

"You....don't want to be parent trapped?" Mycroft says, suddenly feeling as if he is going to throw up.

"Oh," Greg says suddenly breaking into a grin. "Bless the little wingman." He takes a step forward, but even so there is still so much more room between them than there was when Mycroft had to slide by him in the bathroom. "I didn't think you were interested in more than friendship so I was careful never to bring it up. I really didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But you were just shy, and you were probably even waiting for me to say something, weren’t you?"

"You...don't have to pretend to be interested when you're not..." Mycroft says. The feelings are getting even more intense now, and he's starting to worry that he is going to fall over. He reaches his hand out to the side, searching desperately for something that he can grab and hold to make him feel grounded and sane once again.

"I am interested," Greg says earnestly, moving to take Mycroft's searching hand in his. It's far more grounding than Mycroft could have hoped for. "Very interested. I should have said something, but I wasn't completely sure about your orientation until today. And I wanted to give you time to grieve. I really didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable around me if that wasn't what you were looking for, because you and Sherlock, you are so important to me. I don’t want to do anything that might mess that up."

"I should warn you," Mycroft sputters. "I've never actually done this before."

Greg's pupils expand, and the rest of his face blooms with an emotion that Mycroft doesn't understand because he hasn't seen it that often. "You're not making a case against doing this," Greg steps forward. Mycroft's heart nearly stops with uncertainty about what is going to happen next, and then suddenly he feels a hand lightly on his cheek. Mycroft honestly thinks that he is going to pass out for a couple of seconds, but then he locks eyes with Greg who is lost in the intensity of the emotion.

"I...I don't know if I am prepared for all of the things that come with dating," Mycroft warns.

Greg looks at him, perplexed. "All I hear is that you have agreed to date me. The rest is going to be negotiated as we get to it." He removes his hand from Mycroft's cheek, dropping the other hand that he had still been holding. "Sorry. I'm not exactly making a case for myself there when I've been touching you without asking. I promise that I will do better in the future.”

"It was fine," Mycroft assures him, absently reaching his hand up to touch the cheek where Greg's hand had just been.

"Nonetheless I think we'd get farther in this conversation if we weren't touching, and maybe sitting down. Perhaps with tea to keep our hands busy." Greg says, walking past Mycroft into the kitchen and putting on the kettle as if he’s in his own flat.

"I should warn you," Mycroft says, following after him and scooping lose tea into strainers, carefully mixing the earl gray and the oolong in just the way that Greg prefers. "I'm not good with socializing. I know that you are so much better with people than I am. I don't quite understand why you would want to be with me."

Greg laughs, and Mycroft freezes. Greg has never made fun of him before; this is way worse than he ever imagined it was going to be. "No, no! I'm sorry," Greg says, looking alarmed at Mycroft's startled face. "I was just thinking that you are good with people. Like really good. I've seen the way you read them, and no one else can do that! Besides, dating isn't a skill. At least, not when it's done right. It's just about two people figuring out how to make each other happier. We already enjoy spending time together, right?"

Mycroft flushes and nods, focusing on the tea even though it's already in the cup just waiting for hot water.

"We should go out. On Friday, if you think that Rudy would be willing to look after Sherlock."

"Oh!" Mycroft says. "I'd forgotten that people go out when they are ready to date. I don't think it would be wise to me to begin dating right now. I just don't have the time for it."

"Oh, we can date any way that you want to, but I did think...well, it would be nice if once in a while you focused on yourself. Mycroft, I don't want this new thing between the two of us to come between what we already have between the three of us. I just want to add on to it. I'll still come over for take away and we'll spend time together."

"From my understanding teenage dependents are not a typical part of dating in your twenties. Particularly in queer relationships," Mycroft says with his posture suddenly rigid and formal.

"Well then, dear, I'm not your average queer man in his twenties. Sherlock matters to me, and if he left my life it would hurt me. Okay? So, going forward, I would love to take you out to dinner or a club a few times a month, but it is far more important to me that I get to come over here often. I think that we should take the physical bits at an absolute snail pace." He takes a long breath in. "What do you think about that?"

"Club?" Mycroft says with alarm.

Greg chuckles. "You may not be ready for the club just yet, but I think we’re going to get you there. It's not necessary. If it completely terrifies you after we’ve been officially dating a bit, we can just snip that out of the plan."

"I've never...told anyone about myself before. Sherlock only drew the truth out of me because he thought that me not admitting it meant that I didn't accept him."

"I've dated men in the closet before," Greg says.

"I want to come out of the closet, I do. It's just going to be another thing that’s going to be moving at a snail's pace," Mycroft says.

"We can make up a story for your uncle when he comes to babysit Sherlock if that's the problem that you're having."

Mycroft laughs. "Oh my God, you don't know."

"What?" Greg says.

"I am going to save that as a surprise for you, but rest assured that I’m not worried at all about how my Uncle Rudy is going to feel about the fact that he has two gay nephews."

The kettle screams, and Greg turns to pour it over the tea leaves in the slow and careful way that Mycroft always insists on.

"You never answered my question," Mycroft presses, looking at Greg's eyes. "What could you possibly see in me?"

Greg takes a deep breath. "You are brilliant, and so soft and kind. You are fucking cute." He chuckles when Mycroft startles at the swear. "Oh God, you have no idea! But honestly, I don't think most of why you do or don't like someone can be described in logical and rational terms. For the most part it is just a feeling deep in your gut that you know this is a person you want to spend as much time with as you can.”

"I don't think I have that," Mycroft says. He is about to apologize, but he is surprised when Lestrade doesn't look offended or alarmed by those words.

"Okay, then why do you like me?" Lestrade asks.

"You make my nervous system stop working sometimes. Usually just with a look, but, God, a bit ago when you touched me... I think it's mostly because you are a good man. I've seen you being a good man."

Gregory stares at him in a way that effectively makes Mycroft's nervous system stop functioning in exactly the same way that he's been trying to describe. "I think the tea is ready," Mycroft points out.

"Right," Gregory says, blinking in the shock of returning. "Tea is a thing that exists."


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Pre-date chapter.

"Here is the number of the restaurant that we are going to be at. Please call us if anything is going wrong. Or if either of you have any questions, or even if you just want me to come home..." Mycroft says, handing over the phone number to Uncle Rudy, who is more accurately today, Aunt Ruby. She is dressed in a little black dress with a feather boa around her shoulders and red high heeled shoes.

"Oh my God! You are going to a restaurant for a couple of hours, you're not shipping out to war. Please stop being so dramatic!" Sherlock says with a roll of his eyes, and a dramatic flop onto the couch.

"Sherlock, I don't have to go. If you'd rather that I stayed with you for any reason, any reason at all-"

"Please go! Aunt Ruby promised to let me try make-up."

Mycroft raises his eyebrows, suddenly understanding the bag that Aunt Ruby had brought with her into the house.

"Is that not an approved activity?" Aunt Ruby says with concern.

"It’s fine so long as it can be washed off before school, at least for a first experiment. It was just a little…unexpected," Mycroft says. If his brother is going to start learning how to put make-up on, Aunt Ruby is the right person to teach him since the make-up she wears tends to be subtle and sophisticated. 

Greg knocks on the door and then lets himself in before waiting for a response. "Hi." He smiles, raising his eyebrows a little at Aunt Ruby, but not letting the smile peel off his face. Mycroft was hoping for a more dramatic reaction, but he's pleased that Greg at least doesn't look alarmed.

"This is your date?" Aunt Ruby says with a chuckle. "Well, that is unexpected."

Greg grins at him, and then turns to Mycroft to ask, "You all sorted?"

"Yes. For God's sake take him out of here and see if you can get him to stop worrying about Sherlock for an hour or two while you are at it. That will be a whole lot more difficult than keeping a teenager out of trouble for a single night, even if that teenager is Sherlock Holmes."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next one is a post-date recap.

Mycroft freezes in terror for the third time during the first few minutes in the taxi. Greg thinks that he might be just having bad luck bringing up traumatic topic after traumatic topic. He sits back in the seat. "Okay, you pick the topic this time. I feel like a monster right now."

"You're not," Mycroft whispers. "I'm the one who is broken here. I did warn you, you'll remember, that I do not know how to do regular conversations or dating."

"Don't be ridiculous," Greg says, sliding closer to him. "Just forget that this is a date for a bit, okay? This is just you and me going to dinner. We've eaten take-out together tons of times. This is going to be just like that, okay?"

"It's never been a date before. I know that there are procedures and I don't know them. I should have studied beforehand, and I will before we do this again. I promise not to make such a mess of it next time," Mycroft says in a voice that sounds alarmingly close to tears.

"You're not going to mess it up! And there are really no procedures to this. I don’t want you to feel like you have to study to make this work! The stakes are low here. If you act all nervous and say things you regret I am not going to leave. If you managed to be all smooth and perfect it wouldn’t make me think better of you. In fact I might just be a touch disappointed. Has it ever occurred to you that I might like you _because_ you’re different?” Mycroft’s incredulous and surprised look answers Greg’s question without words. “Obviously not. So just take some deep breaths for me and try to relax, okay?" Mycroft obeys, wondering how long ago Greg picked up on the fact that he calms himself down this way, and wondering why he isn't more alarmed by the revealing of his embarrassing secret.

"Alright, now that you’re not hyperventilating, I think you’re a bit confused as to the purpose of a date."

"Just because I'm inexperienced does not mean that I am a child. I do have a basic vocabulary," Mycroft huffs.

"Okay, well, here is what I mean when I say date," Greg says. "It’s two people with romantic feelings for each other enjoying time together. So, right now we're not actually on a date because this is not fun for either one of us. If we need to go back to your flat to get to a place where it is fun for you, then that is what we’re going to do."

"I want to have time when I don't have to share you every now and again," Mycroft says.

"Okay, then let's pretend right now that we're sitting across from each other in your hotel room with take-away on our laps."

"The place we are going is going to have food better than any take-away."

"Yeah, I think it might blow the whole system out of the water. In fact, we might have to create a new system for this, don't you think? We can scribble down an outline on a napkin when we get to the restaurant."

"The napkins are going to be cloth."

"All right, then we are just going to have to memorize the first draft," Greg says cheerfully.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg share a first kiss

Mycroft stands in the entryway of his flat and turns to Greg with a look of alarm clear on his face. "The sources that I read differed greatly on the appropriate way to end a first date."

Greg takes a small step back. "If you’re worried about kissing, remember that we agreed we’re going to take this slowly."

"I remember. Besides, many of my sources said that it was whorish to kiss on a first date," Mycroft says, turning to walk up the stairs.

"Don’t misquote me like that!" Greg says, grabbing Mycroft lightly on the elbow in order to get him to turn back. “I thought you were asking me to give you an out, a way not to be kissed. There’s nothing wrong with kissing on a first date when both people want to, and even though this is our first date we've known each other for a long time. I think whatever source wants to call people by that nasty name should be taken off your reference list of dating advice."

"You’re right. I don't plan on using that word again. It felt uncomfortable anyway."

Greg steps into Mycroft's space. "So...kiss?"

Mycroft leans forward in order to give him a kiss, but at the last minute he chickens out, and turns his face so that his lips only come into contact with Greg's cheek.

Greg carefully tries to read his face. "You want me to kiss you back?”

Mycroft nods, and closes his eyes. Greg waits a few seconds until Mycroft's hands have relaxed at his side. Then he moves in to place a kiss on his lips. It's soft and chase, but both of them are flushing when he pulls away a few seconds later.

"Well," Mycroft says, straightening out his clothes which had not actually gotten mussed in the process. "That does explain what all of the fuss about kissing is about."

"Well, to be fair, most kisses aren’t that good," Greg says, grinning..

"Really?" Mycroft's eyes dance with proud glee. "You'll come up for a cuppa won't you?" Then panic slashes across his face. "I really only meant tea. I understand that when someone invites someone into their flat at the end of a date..."

"I didn't think you meant anything else, and I wouldn't take you up on it if you did. I may have dated before, Mycroft, but I'm not as desperate to rush through the physical aspects of our relationship as you seem to think I am. In fact, I'm usually the one who is putting on the brakes on that bit of the relationship, so believe me when I say I'm never going to be angry at you for wanting to go at your own pace.”

Upstairs they find that Aunt Ruby hadn't stopped with the make-up, and Sherlock is in full drag. The dress is longer and more modest than the one that she wears herself. Also, Sherlock isn't stuffing anything into the brazier, which makes Mycroft feel relieved. Sherlock is however wearing heals-in the form of boots which go all the way up to his knee, high enough that the very top is lost under the hem of his dress.

The make-up is even more subtle than the sort that Aunt Ruby naturally favors, and if it were not for the sparkles on the eyelids Mycroft could have sworn that his brother had decided against the make-up at the last minute.

"You look.... well, is pretty the right word to use in these circumstances?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock nods, and takes a few steps toward Mycroft before tripping over his heels. Mycroft puts out a hand in order to catch his brother.

"Heal toe," Aunt Ruby corrects in a tone reserved for something that Sherlock has been told hundreds of times, and which she has no delusions that he is suddenly going to start remembering now.

"Oh, right," Sherlock says, looking down in an attempt to adjust his steps accordingly.

"I think maybe sometime you and Aunt Ruby should go shopping for your own make-up, and... clothes if that is something that you are interested in.”

"Yeah, but...I don't want to dress like this regularly, you understand," Sherlock says the blush showing more than the make-up did.

"Okay," Mycroft says, looking at his brother seriously. "I do want you to know that it would be okay with me if you did want to wear these clothes more regularly. Also, if there was a pronoun and or name change..."

"I'm not trans," Sherlock said. "I just...is it weird that I wanted to try out dressing up if I'm not?"

"Oh, God, no," Mycroft refutes, reaching over to hug his brother. He kisses him on the top of his head. "Playing with gender is normal. It's good. It's fine. You can play with it just in the safety of this flat, you can play with it in a bigger way if you want, and this doesn't change your gender identity unless you say it does. I just wanted you to know it's okay if it did, alright?"

"Thank you," Sherlock says, wrapping his arms around his brother. "Okay, I’m going to go change out of these clothes and get ready for bed."

"I'll be in to tuck you in in a bit, okay?" Mycroft tells him.

"How was the date?" Aunt Ruby asks, packing make-up into a bag.

"It was amazing," Mycroft says, grinning at her.

"Great. I'll be off then."

"Thank you for helping Sherlock. It really means a lot," Mycroft says with force behind his words.

"Anytime. You just let me know when you’re ready to play with your own identity a bit," Ruby says with a wink.

Mycroft lets out a short rough laugh. "I really don't think that's about to happen."

"I'm planning on taking him to a gay club eventually, and he’s going to need your help with the outfit," Greg says. Seeing the flaring alarm on Mycroft’s face, Greg hurries to add, "Although I'm sure you've lots of time before that happens."

"Baby gay, they will eat him alive," Aunt Ruby giggles. Mycroft glares at her. "No, seriously, nephew. Sherlock and you are very different people. When I talked about helping you play with your identity I was not imagining heals, dresses, and make-up. That's not you, and I don't want to transform you into someone that you’re not. I would help you find a nice tailor who will put you into a great suit which will make you feel a whole lot more like you, and look just oh so extra! It's time for you to stop pretending that you’re still wearing your high school uniform.

Mycroft smiles at her, and Aunt Ruby gives him a hug before she walks out of the room.

"Let’s get to that tea, then?" Mycroft asks Greg, grinning and walking into the kitchen.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes brothers prepare for a visit from social workers.

"The house is already clean!" Sherlock whines, lying down on the floor (the part he hasn't yet scrubbed Mycroft realizes with a wince).

"I just want everything to be perfect when the social worker comes, Sherlock," Mycroft says in annoyance. "She is coming to see if I can provide you with a good home."

"Please. It's not like they are going to make me live in foster care just because there’s a bit of dog hair in the corner," Sherlock says, rolling his eyes so far back that it requires a head tilt in order to get it done.

"I'm sure you are right, Sherlock, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do everything I could to make this work out. Speaking of which." Mycroft takes a deep breath. "I’m not sureit will make a difference. I really hope that it won't, but I am not about to take any sort of risk. You understand that there are people in the world who have the mistaken impression that homosexuals are not fit to be parents?"

"You think this social worker is going to be homophobic," Sherlock says, sitting up with sudden attention.

"I don't think so, but I also don't think it will hurt to be cautious for one afternoon."

"So you want me to pretend to be straight?"

"No, of course not. I would never ask you to hide who you are. I'm just asking you not to out me for one this afternoon. It's complicated. People might assume that I would hurt you if they knew that I was gay."

"So you are saying that I shouldn't mention Greg?" Sherlock says.

"You can mention him. You just leave out the bit where you reveal that he is my boyfriend."

Sherlock seriously considers his brother for a few seconds, and Mycroft is pretty sure that is brother is going to refuse. "You are really nervous about this social worker visit, aren't you?"

"Of course! Taking care of you is the most important thing that I have ever done. There is a small chance that I won't be allowed to continue to do it, and I really don't want to mess that up!"

"Now I'm nervous," Sherlock says, looking pale.

"Sherlock, I’m not exactly being purely logical right now. Try not to let my anxiety infect you. I can't help being nervous today."

"Because you think they’re going to take me away from you?" Sherlock says, getting off the floor to stand before his brother, who takes the opportunity to quickly wipe the spot in case Sherlock decides to fling himself back down.

Mycroft drops the half-cleaned dish he’d had tucked under his arm back into the sink, and then dries his hands as he turns toward his brother. "No, I think there is a tiny chance that I've botched this thing, and that they'll see that I'm not the right place for you. Even a tiny chance of not getting to keep you is more than I can bear."

"I simply won't go with them. I'll just run away!" Sherlock declares with a stubborn jut of his chin.

"None of that now! We are just going to put our best foot forward, and then we'll see where we are. We're not going to borrow trouble. Yet."

"If they do take me away, you'll still visit, won't you?" Sherlock asks with his forehead crinkled together.

"Of course, Sherlock!" Mycroft says, looking at his brother as if he’d just grown three new heads.

"You don't visit Eurus."

Mycroft takes a shattery breath like he would if his brother had just punched him in the stomach. "That's a bit different, don't you think?"

"Well, whatever they say this afternoon I don't think you botched this," Sherlock evades.

It doesn't escape Mycroft's notice that his brother isn't looking into his eyes. "Thank you," Mycroft says.

Sherlock looks back to him with laughter in his eyes. "Of course, if you make me keep cleaning I might have to mention to them that you use me as a scullery maid."

Mycroft chuckles. "Yes, I suppose you've done enough. I'll take over. You go on."

Sherlock makes a hasty escape, but just before he leaves the room he looks at his brother, and says, "I know you've been telling me that there’s nothing wrong with being gay, but I really hope you believe that yourself."

"Most days I do," Mycroft tells him seriously.


	19. Chapter 19

"Please, come in," Mycroft says to the social worker.

"Oh, my. Your home is really quite lovely," she says, looking around the pristine living room and dining room. "Do I smell a pie?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid that it's not quite done. I thought that it would be nice after the tour."

"How thoughtful of you. Where is your brother?"

Mycroft tries hard not to show the panic he feels. He should have had his brother in the living room to greet her. How could he have been so stupid? "He's in his room, working on his homework," Mycroft says, leading her down the hallway to his brother's abode. Or at least the sanitized version of his room that currently exists. They replaced all the anatomical drawings that usually decorates his brother's walls with more appropriate diagrams of microscopes and posters displaying famous scientists. The usual clutter and experiments are all gone.

"Hi," Sherlock says, closing the science book, and looking at the social worker with fear clear in his eyes.

"What are you working on?" she asks with a warm smile that has clearly been well practiced precisely for calming down children with fear in their eyes.

"Science homework. Well-" Sherlock pauses. "I say homework, but it's more like reading ahead."

"So, you like science then?" the social worker asks, glancing around at how much of this interest is present in the room.

"Yes. Mycroft lets me do experiments." Sherlock quickly rushes on, "Only safe ones." Mycroft hopes it doesn't sound like Sherlock does very dangerous experiments to the social worker's ears as much as it does to his, but if it does her face doesn't seem to show it.

"Does he ever do experiments with you?" she asks.

"No," Sherlock says crunching up his nose. "But that's only because I don't want him to. We do other things together. We play chess, and he walks the dog with me. He even picks up the poop most of the time, though he said I was going to have to do that. Oh! And cooking. We've never cooked before, and I got really scared of having take-away after Eurus poisoned him, so we're learning together. We eat together most of the time, even when we don't cook. Mummy and Daddy didn't really do that with me, you know. It's nice to be able to talk to him."

She smiles. "You feel like you could tell him anything?"

"Oh, I know I can," Sherlock says. "He's made it very clear that I can be honest with him."

"You like living with your brother, then?"

"Obviously," Sherlock says, grinning at his brother.

"Alright. I feel like I’m ready to see the rest of the house."

Mycroft shows her Sherlock's bathroom first, which is clean for the first time since he's moved in, and then his own bed and bath at the end of the hall. The spare room contains a treadmill, which did not fit in Mycroft's own room, and a matched pair of antique writing desks as well as the brother's joint collection of books and board games.

"Your brother sleeps in the master bedroom, doesn't he?” the social worker asks as Mycroft serves her apple pie and coffee.

Mycroft had thought it was a logical choice at the time. Sherlock had simply had more things, but now he fears that it's the wrong choice, although he doesn't know why. "Yes."

"That was generous of you." She punctuates the sentence with a bite of her pie.

"I thought it was the least that I could do after everything he's been through in the last year," Mycroft says honestly.

"How are you doing with parenting? Many people struggle a bit in the first couple of months."

Mycroft looks around the living room wondering what he did wrong. "I wasn't aware that I was struggling."

She smiles at him. "I didn't say you were. I've decided that you can continue to be his guardian. We'll reevaluate in another six months before it's permanent, but it looks like you are willing and able to provide a good home for your little brother."

"Thank you!" Mycroft exclaims in relief.

"I do want you to know that struggle would be normal. It certainly wouldn't mean that you wouldn't be allowed to keep your brother. So, let me help you if you start to struggle," she says, sliding a business card with a telephone number stamped on it in blue ink over to him.

After he's lets her out the door he means to throw it right away, but he feels like it is sticking to his hand. He has no intention of giving in and asking for help, but he tucks it away in his pocket to be dealt with later.

Sherlock pops his head out of his bedroom, and looks around to make sure that the social worker is gone before he asks, "Were we good enough?"

"Yes," Mycroft says, and he is startled by his brother running into his arms for a long hug. "She's going to check up on us again in six months, but yeah, we're okay. You're staying."

"Thank you for doing this," Sherlock says with more genuine emotion than Mycroft is used to hearing coming from his brother.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Greg go clubbing.

Greg stares at Mycroft with an open mouth. Mycroft fights the urge to fidget. This is not the kind of outfit one fidgets in. "It's wrong, isn't it?" Mycroft says, looking down at himself. He's wearing a silk shirt with a casual jacket and trouser. It's far out of his comfort zone, and he's still painfully aware that he will mostly likely stick out like a sore thumb at the nightclub.

"It's not wrong," Greg says. "It's not exactly the sort of thing that people normally wear, but I would be shocked if you looked like you belonged in a club. And right now it's taking all of my will power not to reach over and run a hand across your chest."

Mycroft blushes, and nearly invites him to try it. The only thing that stops him is that he's not sure he could handle it from Greg, who is certainly dressed like he belongs in a club. He's wearing eye shadow and has spiked hair. He's got on a simple tank top under his leather jacket which has pockets and straps that Mycroft's hands have an urge to explore. The pocket that he longs to explore the most is the front pocket of Greg's tight leather pants.

"I'm not going," Mycroft says, looking both of them up and down in the full length hallway mirror. The comparison between them is just too painful.

"My God, you're allowed to dress differently than me. We are different people after all, and in case you somehow missed it I am going to point out once again that the way you are dressed has as much of a positive effect on me as mine apparently has on you." Mycroft blushes, and Greg moves into his space ever so slightly. "When I said I wanted to bring you to the club, I didn't mean I wanted to bring you pretending to be someone else to the club. But I know that social situations are hard for you. I can take my phone out right now and cancel this until such a time as you are comfortable with it. And if you are never comfortable with it, well then. That’s that."

"No, we'll go," Mycroft says, taking a breath to steal himself. "As soon as Uncle Rudy is here."

"I am, love!" His uncle exclaims, entering the still open front door behind Mycroft. "Well, look at you. That looks even better than it did in the store." He turns toward Greg. "Just wait until you see him in the suit the tailor is finishing up. I swear that boy was born for tailored suits. It's an absolute sin he's never been in one before. And you! I didn't expect all of the leather. Good for you!"

Mycroft glares at him.

"Oh, please, dear. I'm not about to start drooling over your man. Even if he wasn't practically family, he's far too young for my blood. It was a purely aesthetic appraisal, although, if you're going to be that touchy about eyes falling on him you're going to be struggling at the club."

"Don't listen to him. No one is going to be able to take their eyes off you long enough to know I exist," Greg says.

“Sherlock! We're ready to start baking. Get your butt out here!" Uncle Rudy calls.

Sherlock comes out, and his mouth drops open at the sight of Greg. "Mycroft wasn't joking when he said that you were going to a gay club?"

"Nope," Greg says with a chuckle.

"What's it like?" Sherlock asks. "I mean, like, you've been to one before?"

"Yeah, a few times. It's actually not my favorite thing in the world," Greg admits. "It's very loud, and it can give me a headache when I've been there for too long. The beer is overpriced, and most people don't even drink it. They tend more toward the sort of frilly drinks that I wouldn't be caught dead drinking. I'm mostly going there to introduce your brother to a few of my friends, who enjoy it a whole lot more than I do."

"But literally everyone that goes there is gay, right?" Sherlock says in a tone of fascination.

"Well the odd hen party does come in from time to time, but, yeah, mostly."

"I can't imagine," Sherlock says with a wide grin. "What it would feel like to be in a place where you belonged like that! I don't want to wait until I'm old enough to actually find out."

"Well, you are going to wait until then," Mycroft says with a knee jerk reaction. He doesn't even feel old enough to go to a bar, and he feels like Sherlock is never going to get there.

"I'm sure there is a more age-appropriate space out there for queer people your age," Greg says. "I'm sure Uncle Rudy or I can figure out something."

"Really?" Sherlock says, a look of pure joy almost overwhelming his face.

“Yes, but we’d better get going,” Greg says to Mycroft.

"Wait," Uncle Rudy interrupts, looking at Mycroft very seriously. He takes a small clip earring out of his pocket. He holds it out and raises one eyebrow. When Mycroft gives him a nod, he clips it onto his nephew's ear, and then he unfastens the two top buttons of Mycroft's silk shirt. "Do you think he needs a couple more?" Rudy asks to Greg over his shoulder.

"I'm practically naked as it is!" Mycroft objects.

"Oh my God, you can barely see your chest!" Sherlock exclaims, annoyed.

"You look great, Hon, but if you feel more comfortable with it buttoned back up, than do it because I know we are already quite a ways out of your comfort zone,” Greg offers.

"I do look more clubbable now though, don't I?" Mycroft asks, looking down and slightly adjusting the shirt halves a bit closer together.

Greg chuckles. "Yeah, let's not phrase it in quite that way, shall we?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to a gay club.

Mycroft's hands itch to reach up and cover his ears, but he forces them to stay down. He knows that's not the proper way to react to being in a club, and he doesn't want to embarrass Greg. Greg takes a few steps out onto the dance floor and stands on his tip toes in order to spot the table where his friends are. Greg bobs to the music as he does it, and he looks unbelievably cool. Mycroft finds himself wishing that he had learned to dance in preparation for today, even if there was no chance that he was going to look as good as Greg did when he did it.

Greg spots his friends, and retreats back to where Mycroft stands frozen on the edge of the dance floor. He takes Mycroft's hand, and moves confidently through the crowd, dragging the other man behind him. The single file serpentine nature means that sometimes Mycroft's hand brushes the top of Greg's arse which is something Mycroft enjoys more than he would ever admit.

Greg stops at a high table that has stools around it, three of them already filled. Most of the tables have four chairs, and Mycroft tries to focus on the fact that Greg's friends went out of the way to include him by pulling a chair over, instead of focusing on the fact that he is the fifth wheel at the table.

"All right, boys, this is my boyfriend, Mycroft." Greg grins as he says the words. "And this is Dan, Reggie, and Sam," he says, pointing each of them out with a nod of his head.

"It's nice to meet you," Mycroft says as he maneuvers himself awkwardly onto his high stool. Dan lets out a chuckle, and Mycroft glances at him in horror, trying to figure out how exactly he'd managed to mess it up already.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Dan says patting his hand "I'm honestly not laughing at you. I'm just trying to figure out how our punk boy right here ended up with someone as posh as you."

"Dumb blind bloody luck," Greg says.

"That's not true," Mycroft says blushing. "Gregory is a very good man."

"Oh my God, he calls you Gregory?" Sam asks in shock.

"That's a recent development. I spent oh so much time being called 'Lestrade'. His kid brother still calls me that actually."

"A family man!" Dan exclaims. "God, he's like your wet dream."

"You can calm down the comments like that, actually," Greg says, looking over at the intensity of Mycroft's blushing.

"My God, he's baby gay isn't he?" Dan exclaims. "I can't believe you let him out of your bed long enough to let me meet him."

"So help me, Dan, I will take him home if you can't behave,"

Dan keeps the 'I bet you will' unspoken, but they all hear it anyway.

"So, Mycroft, what do you do for a living?" Reggie asks.

"I'm taking a few classes right now. I did take some time off right after-" Mycroft says.

Reggie's smile faulters. "I'm sorry, after what?"

Mycroft’s face is panic stricken and he looks at Greg hoping he will not have to be the one to say the words.

"God, sorry," Greg says. "Early on it felt weird to tell them, but it's actually a whole lot weirder that I didn't. Um...so...Mycroft lost his parents a couple of months back. He's been taking care of his little brother ever since. That's actually how we met."

"Oh my God, the murder case?" Reggie asks in shock.

Greg nods.

"Wow, so you have a kid. You really are Greg's fantasy," Dan says, but this time there is not as much joking involved.

A new song comes on, and even though Mycroft can't tell the difference between the pounding sound of this song as compared to all the rest, Dan puts out his hand to Sam, and the two of them get up to dance. Reggie catches the eye of a lone dancer and gets up to move toward him.

"You could...dance if you wanted to," Mycroft says, blushing at Greg.

Greg smiles at him. "No, thank you. I know how hard it was for you to come here in the first place, and I think the very least I can do is not go off and dance without you."

"So, what does 'baby gay' mean?" Mycroft asks, leaning forward to whisper the word with concern.

"It's just a slang term for someone who just came out," Greg reassures him with a pat of his hand.

"Okay." Mycroft is relieved it wasn't the insult he thought it was, although he still doesn't understand why that would be sexualized as it was by the tone of their voices.

Greg squeezes his hand. "You just let me know if this gets to be too much, and we can leave."

"No, it's fine. Just...the way they talked it seemed like...do you date a lot of single parents?"

Greg chuckles, looking into Mycroft’s eyes even though they are half squinting in the glare of a strobe light that’s just turned on. "No, you're the first one. They’re teasing me because I tend to fall fast and hard, and take relationships more seriously than most people my age. Honestly, most people find it more than a bit scary, particularly when the person I’m dating is a man. I have... a rather domestic turn of the head, and the idea of settling down and having kids really appeals to me. I don't really want to wait a decade before I do that, or even half of a decade. Sam thinks that there must be something terribly broken in me to think that way, and he attempts to make me party more and be the sort of person that he thinks I should be."

Mycroft looks down at the table.

Greg chuckles to himself. "And here I am fucking things up by coming on too strong too early once again. I don't mean to move fast. Just pretend I didn't talk about settling down and having kids. I get that it's not really something you talk about on what is really our second date."

"It's not too early," Mycroft says. "Because I do have a kid."

"Yeah," Greg says, taking a breath, and trying to think of something else to say, but it feels like everything has already been said.

"I....have similar hopes for the next few years," Mycroft says, looking anywhere but at Greg's face until the silence forces him to look up. He's grinning.

"You've thought about kids? I mean...more kids?"

"Certainly not immediately," Mycroft says. "And if I am being perfectly honest I actually haven't considered it that much so far, but I enjoy raising Sherlock. If I do not mess it up too terribly I would be interested in doing it again."

"You're not going to mess it up! You're an amazing father," Greg says.

Mycroft feels warmth pooling in his stomach. “If I were to have children, it might be nice to do so before Sherlock was completely out of the house.”

Greg is grinning back at him as the song ends, and his friends drift back to the table.

"I'm going to go get a drink. Can I get you something?" Greg asks Mycroft.

"I think something fruity and frilly has been mentioned."

"I'll choose you something that will make your teeth rot," Greg promises.

"What are you going to college for?" Reggie askes.

"Political science," Mycroft answers.

"Really? God, I would do just about anything to avoid politics, but more power to you,” Dan exclaims.

"Well, we live in a world where some people have less rights than others. I think that spending my lifetime trying to fix that wouldn't be a bad thing,” Mycroft says, surprised that the real reason behind his career choice comes off his tongues so easily.

The rest of the people at the table grin at him.

"Look, I don't want to be the person who says you've got to treat Greg right or insert vague threat here. But Greg is one of the good ones, and he's very serious about you,” Reggie says.

"I'm rather serious about him as well," Mycroft says, glancing to where Greg is moving through the crowd across the room, a beer in one hand and something electric green in the other.

"Well, as long as you're not going to hurt him, we're going to be great friends," Sam says, grinning.

"I would never hurt him on purpose, but I feel like I should warn you that I don't have the slightest idea what I am doing. There is a very good chance that I could hurt him by accident," Mycroft says.

"You love him," Reggie says in surprise.

"We've not said those things," Mycroft says, turning red, and looking over his shoulder to make sure that Greg is still out of earshot.

"It wasn't really a question, mate," Reggie says with a grin, looking at Greg who is getting close to hearing range now. "But don't worry about it. He feels the same."

The smile that Greg gives Mycroft when he sits down next to him leads Mycroft to believe that there might be some merit to that theory.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft invites Greg into his bed.

"You're sure that this is safe?" Mycroft says, looking over at his brother who is frantically typing on a computer.

"Yes. It's fully monitored by people who work for the organization," Greg says.

"I'd feel better if I were able to monitor it myself, though," Mycroft says, pouting.

"No!" Sherlock almost shouts, looking at his brother.

"Kids do need some privacy," Greg says.

"I understand that, I do, but online is really scary. There could be predators,” Mycroft says with a furrowed brow.

"Not on this site. Trust me when I say that I wouldn't have told your brother about it unless I was certain it was safe. Mycroft, you've got to let things go a bit,” Greg assures him.

"All right, but it's time for you to go to bed pretty quick, as soon as you complete whatever thought you have on there,” Mycroft warns his brother

"I suppose I should get going too," Greg says.

"Just stay a bit..." Mycroft says looking nervous. "I could make you another cup of tea."

"Thanks, I've actually had enough tea," Greg says, but when Mycroft looks miserable Greg adds, "I'm not leaving," and then he gives the hand between them a squeeze. Holding hands has become common between them during the last few weeks, although other signs of affection are still quite rare.

Sherlock makes a disgusted look and leaves the computer to go to his room.

"I...want to ask you to say the night, but without being willing to do any of the things that would typically mean. I'll understand if you say no. That's...a lot to ask, and I don't want to be a cruel tease."

Greg touches his cheek. "You do understand that I would not allow other people to say that about you, right? I don’t intend to allow you to say it about yourself either. The idea of a platonic night in bed with you sounds really nice, and if that's what you want, then that is something that I would be willing to do."

Mycroft grins. "Okay, I'll go grab out a spare toothbrush and a pair of sweatpants. You can use the bathroom first while I tuck Sherlock in, and then..."

"And then," Greg says with a grin. He wants to kiss Mycroft. He spends more and more of his time thinking about how much he wants to kiss him, but the kisses are still rare, and Greg still prefers when Mycroft initiates them.

When Mycroft arrives in the room after his own trip to the bathroom Greg is already under the covers, and the sight of the other man in his bed causes Mycroft to blush furiously. "I forgot to offer you a shirt. I could bring one to you."

"I'm fine. I'm already wearing more clothes than I usually do to bed," Greg admits.

Mycroft's face goes even redder, to the point that Greg is concerned about him. Mycroft is wearing old fashioned striped pajamas. He turns the lock on the door, and that action causes a rush of excitement to run through Greg.

"Do you think...is it possible to kiss, and then stop?" Mycroft asks.

"Very possible," Greg smiles. "Huge fan, actually, of letting the just kissing part of a relationship last a while."

Greg sits up on his knees, and Mycroft bends down to bridge some of the distance between them. Mycroft looks nervous as hell, but he looks excited too. Greg presses a barely-there-kiss, like all the ones they have shared before to his lips.

Mycroft grabs onto his neck and deepens the kiss. It feels desperate and needy and raw, and flips Greg's stomach like no kiss has ever done before. When Mycroft pulls away Greg rolls back on the bed, and to his great surprise Mycroft follows after him. They're barely touching. Mycroft is suspended on his hands and knees over him, but just the very idea of Mycroft Holmes over his body in bed is affecting Greg in more intense ways that actual sex with other people has in the past.

Mycroft grins at him, and, God damn it, the man's gotten cocky already. Greg leans in to give him a quick kiss which includes a little nip at Mycroft's lip, and then suddenly Mycroft has melted on top of him, with every single part of their bodies touching, and Mycroft is attacking his mouth with open mouthed kisses. His tongue is clumsy, but Greg is really enjoying the feeling. Greg rolls Mycroft beneath him and applies his more practiced tongue to the task. Mycroft moans and gulps greedily at him.

Mycroft seems to be running pretty short on breath, so Greg pulls his mouth away, and tries to go onto his hands and knees to give him some room to recover, but Mycroft's four limbs shoot out and wrap themselves around him all at once, and Greg falls back down on top of his lover laughing. Mycroft starts trying to kiss him, so Greg applies his kissing to his neck, allowing Mycroft time to catch his breath.

"Oh, God," Mycroft pants out after a few moments of this, releasing his iron four limbed grip and rolling Greg to the side. "That was snogging wasn't it? We've snogged now?"

"Yes, for sure that was snogging, although it is a fairly varied activity.

"I think I'd like to try all of the varieties, because I really liked this one," Mycroft says.

"I liked it too," Greg says, reaching over to put a hand on his cheek.

Mycroft leans forward, and begins kissing again, although this time they both stay on their own side, and Greg doesn't miss the way that Mycroft is careful to keep their hips apart.

Mycroft pulls away and stands up.

"Sorry, did I go too far?” Greg asks. “You just tell me to stop anytime. This is your bed, so if one of us is going to leave it should be me. I'm just going to need a moment to get myself into a state that won't alarm you."

Mycroft blushes at that reference, partially because he is standing in that same state. "I was just.... unlocking the door. I'd prefer if you'd stay."

"Oh, that's good," Greg says, letting a grin cover his face.

"Did we not...kiss enough? If we weren't finished, I can come back, and unlock the door later.”

"I’m comfortable with what we did. I just want to make sure you are too, and I thought you didn't want to be in the same room as me, that's all."

"No, I want you to stay," Mycroft firmly insists, unlocking the door, and walking back toward the bed. "In fact, I want to try what is called...spooning."

"Big spoon or little one, love?"

"I don't know what that means, but I want you to hold me," Mycroft says, slipping back into bed and turning his back to the other man. Greg moves closer, and he holds most of his body flush against his boyfriend, although he keeps his hips a bit back to prevent Mycroft from being embarrassed.

Mycroft lets out a long sigh, and Greg feels him relax. "Thank you. That feels amazing."

"It really does," Greg says, giving him a breathy kiss on the back of his neck.

Mycroft pulls away a little. "No kissing when the doors unlocked okay? I don't want us to get carried away and have Sherlock walk in on something."

"Does Sherlock often come into your room in the middle of the night?" Greg asks in surprise.

"Not often, just sometimes when he can't sleep. He copes with things so well that sometimes I almost forget all that he's been through."

"I can understand that. He seems so normal it’s sometimes hard to tell that he's been through hell."

"I thought that being Sherlock’s guardian was going to be the most difficult thing I ever did with my life, but it’s been so easy that it makes me a bit nervous.”

Greg squeezes him with the arm around his middle. "Maybe you should consider that you are just good at parenting."

Mycroft reaches his hand back and intertwines the fingers with Greg's. "You're good with him too. I know that I'm a better parent with you by my side. Heck, I'm a better person with you by my side."

Greg squeezes Mycroft’s hand back. "Well, you are the best thing that's ever happened to me. I'll tell you that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the internet site I reference here is through the Trever project website. It did not exist when Sherlock was a teenager, and usually, I go in for realism when I write stories in the near past.  
> But realism gets a bit depressing when talking about LGBTQA issues thirty years ago because that was the dark ages.  
> I gave in with this bit, and another bit later on.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock discovers that Greg has been sleeping over.

"I'm worried about Sherlock," Mycroft says spooning Greg in bed for the second night in a row. "His therapist says he hardly ever talks when he's in therapy. He mostly just sits there and broods."

"Have you ever considered going to therapy with him?"

Mycroft flips over so that he can stare at him. "You think I need therapy?"

"Well, yeah, sort of. I'm one of those people who think that just about everyone could use therapy. But I was actually thinking about how it would help your brother. Set an example, and so forth."

"You’re not wrong there," Mycroft says. "But I really don't want to. I didn't suffer like he did. He needs the help more than I do."

"Your parents died," Greg says.

"Yes, but....I should have seen it. If I'd said something about the unease that my sister made me feel I might have been able to save them."

"See, honey, that’s survivor's guilt, and therapy could really help you deal with that. You weren’t responsible for what happened. It was not your job to raise your siblings when you were just a child yourself. You have to forgive yourself for what happened."

Mycroft stays quiet.

"You know, I'm sure Sherlock feels the same way. Do you think he should blame himself?"

"No! Of course not, because she threatened him to keep silent. I was never threatened. I could have done something about it!"

Greg sighs. It’s a conversation they’ve had many times before, but the repetitions seem to do Mycroft some good. "It's not your fault. You didn’t know everything that was going on. What happened to Sherlock? Not your fault. Your parent's death? Not your fault. And the fact that your sister is a murderer? Not your fault, not at all!"

Mycroft leans forward, and buries his head in Greg's chest, sobbing. Greg holds him, rubbing his back until they are both asleep.

***

"Oh my God!" It’s the middle of the night and Sherlock's voice wakes up Mycroft. Before Mycroft can even respond or say anything his brother has fled the room. Mycroft pulls Greg's arm away from him, flings the covers aside and runs out of the room after Sherlock.

Sherlock turns to face him in the hallway. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know that Greg was staying here although...I am now realizing that I really should have known, because he had breakfast with us twice last week."

"It's fine Sherlock. You did nothing wrong," Mycroft assures him.

"I won't bother you at night anymore. I really don't want to interrupt you ever again," Sherlock promises earnestly.

"Sherlock, you're never going to interrupt anything that wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see. I am very careful to lock the door whenever you shouldn't come in. You can still come to me at night when you need to. I would hate for you to feel like I am excluding you."

"I don't need anything. I'm fine."

Mycroft sighs. "What can I do to make this less terrible? Should I go sit in your room? Or should we just have Greg move onto the couch? If we got one of those little fainting couch things maybe you would still feel comfortable sleeping in my room when you needed to."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I just need to grow up and sleep in my own bed."

"No. I should probably just admit that this situation is weird. I'll ask Greg to leave, and we won't have any more sleep overs. I realize now that I should have asked you before we ever took this step."

Sherlock's face twists up. "I don't want you to ask him to leave. It is weird for me, but I’m going to get over it. You’re happy, and I don't want you to stop being happy just because of me."

"You are the priority in this family, Sherlock, and I won't have you being uncomfortable in your own home."

"You can't just be single until I'm grown up. You'd be ancient."

Mycroft smiles at that. "Thank you so much, but I'm really not going to do anything which makes you uncomfortable."

Greg scoots past them in the hallway, getting awkwardly close to Mycroft to avoid being too close to Sherlock. "Really, it's fine. I'm on my way out."

"Please stay," Sherlock says. "I like him having you, and I know both of you are so much happier when you’re together. I don't want to do anything to make that not happen. I'm sorry about my reaction. I’m embarrassed and I wish I could take it back."

Greg looks at him, and lets out a long sigh. "It's perfectly okay to be freaked out. So, what if we had some tea, and talked about what form the nightmares came in tonight?"

"Could one of you..." Sherlock sighs. "I know it's ridiculous."

"Go ahead," Lestrade says with a nod of his head.

"Can you just check under my bed?"

"Of course," Greg says, pushing past Mycroft again in order to make his way into the teenager's room. He throws in a closet check as well, and Sherlock smiles ever so slightly at that.

Mycroft has the tea started when they enter the kitchen, and they all drink their herbal tea and chat for a while before heading back to their respective beds.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock rebells.

Mycroft's stomach drops when he sees the number of his brother's school on the phone, and he finds himself so breathless that he can barely convince himself to actually pick up the phone. The only reason he manages to talk himself into it is the thought that Sherlock might need him.

Sherlock is outside of the headmaster's office when he arrives, and he's not meeting Mycroft's eyes. Mycroft sits down in the spot next to him even though the headmaster is waiting for him. "What happened?"

Sherlock shakes his head and looks away.

"Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Holmes," the headmaster says emerging from his office in order to get Mycroft to enter the office with him and so Mycroft follows him into his office.

He takes a seat and a deep breath, and says, "What seems to be the problem?"

"There was a bullying incident."

Mycroft collapses into his chair. "What kind of a monster would make fun of someone who had just lost his parents?"

The headmaster looks at him in surprise. "I am sorry for being unclear. Sherlock was not the victim."

"Oh," Mycroft says, feeling as if he's almost been punched in the stomach. "Was...was Sherlock physical with him?"

"That is not the only sort of bullying that we consider to be serious."

"No, of course not," Mycroft says shaking his head. "I take verbal attacks very seriously. I am just trying to figure out the extent of what happened."

"Apparently Sherlock has gotten quite in the habit of referring to some of his fellow students as things like 'idiot'. He's been quite persistent in some cases, and one broke into tears after he'd done it several times. That was actually how it came to our attention."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft says. "What consequence is he receiving?"

"Well, that is where things get a bit complicated actually. The consequence was supposed to be him visiting with the school counselor, but he's refusing to go."

"I'm not surprised," Mycroft admits. "I've taken him to a psychologist, and he's not sharing very much with her. I've actually started my own sessions with her, mostly to help normalize it for him. I am willing to give him a consequence at home, but honestly, I don't have a lot of hope that it's going to get him to comply with what is being asked of him."

"We understand, and no one ever said that the job of parenting teenagers is easy. We decided that if he continues to refuse to go to counseling he'll have to serve an equal number of days in detention."

"That sounds fair," Mycroft says seriously. "And again, I apologize. I'll try to do some empathy building with him."

"We understand that Sherlock has been through a lot this year, and we are taking extra steps to try and help him cope," the headmaster says.

"I appreciate that," Mycroft says, trying to breathe through the feeling of drowning which seems to have taken over his chest. "It's fairly near the end of the day. Should I take him with me now or come back in half an hour?"

"Go on and take him. We appreciate all the work that you did to keep him caught up academically while he was out of school.”

"Well, if I'm being honest that was mostly him. He's a bright boy."

Mycroft walks out of the room, and with a tense voice says. "Come on, Sherlock." When the two of them are out of the office Mycroft asks his brother, "Do you need anything from your locker or do you have everything you need for tonight?"

"I'm good," Sherlock says.

There is silence in the taxi for a bit while Mycroft tries to get his breath coming in something akin to normal and think of what of punishment would be appropriate to give his brother. Every one of his brother’s muscles are tense, and Mycroft knows he's got to let the other shoe drop soon, for his brother's sake.

"Sherlock, are you really going to go to detention in order to avoid a few sessions with the counselor?"

"You mean you didn't get me out of it like a proper big brother? You'd think you could have used the trauma card."

"Sherlock, you cannot go around making fun of people."

"I wasn't making fun of her. I was simply stating a fact. She _is_ stupid, and it's not my fault that facts made her cry."

"It is. You don't need to tell people bad things about themselves. Most of us are already altogether too aware of our failings. I know that the whole world is stupid compared to you, but you simply can't go around and hurt people because of it. Just because you think something doesn't mean that it has to come out of your mouth."

"Fine," Sherlock says, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

"Do you understand how serious this is, Sherlock? I was called into your school today! You are going to have to serve detention!"

"Yes, three detentions. I heard," Sherlock says in a board voice.

"You have to take this more seriously! You have to be willing to change your behavior because of it! I am... going to ground you."

"I never leave the house," Sherlock says, raising his eyebrows at him.

"Grounding from doing scientific experiments," Mycroft elaborates.

"Please. I It's not as if you could stop me," Sherlock says.

"Sherlock, you cannot continue to treat people as you treated this little girl today!" Mycroft exclaims.

"I obviously can, because I did," Sherlock replies in a calm voice.

"And chores. You are going to hoover the house as soon as we are done with dinner."

Sherlock chuckles. "If you stick to that then I just won't eat dinner." The taxi stops in front of the flat, and Sherlock darts out of the door by the street without looking to see if there’s any traffic first (luckily there was not). Mycroft pays the cab and follows him into the flat. Sherlock has already locked himself in his bedroom, and Mycroft can smell something that shows Sherlock is not obeying his prohibition against experiments. But the smell is of a non-dangerous chemical, and Mycroft has already more than enough conflict for the day so he slides into the chair with an error of defeat and picks up the phone. He calls Greg, and there is a small part of him which wants to begin the phone call by pleading for help, but instead he says the much more grown up sentence. "I think it might be better if you didn't come over tonight."

"Okay," Greg agrees. "I take it that Sherlock is still freaked out by seeing me in your bed last night?"

"God, I wish that was all that was going on!" Mycroft exclaims, finding it hard to believe that that had only happened a few hours before.

"What's wrong then?" Greg asks with concern.

"Sherlock was terrorizing some child at school. The term bullying was brandied about."

"Well they just have to understand that Sherlock has been through a lot this year, and give the kid a break," Greg says.

"I think they do understand that, maybe even better than I do. But he's refusing to take their punishment even though it's pretty mild-only going to the counselor. They gave him detention instead. I tried to talk to him about it, and somehow that resulted in him doing the opposite of his punishment, and refusing to eat dinner," Mycroft says slumping in his chair, and resting his head in his free hand.

"It's very common for victims of abuse to become abusers. I think if we consider all the things that his sister did to him we’re pretty lucky that this is the first time we are running into something like this."

"I think abuse is a pretty strong word for insulting a girl to tears, but I agree with you. I just don't know what to do with him. Maybe I shouldn't have tried to add on punishment in addition to what the school gave him. I gave him more than I meant to. Once he started acting like he didn't care about my punishment or that he was just going to do whatever despite what I said more things just started to come out of my mouth. I know that I can't go back on all of it now without losing the little bit of credibility that I actually have from him."

"I don't know about that. Once when I was a kid my mom lost it and yelled at me, which was something she really never did. She came into my room, and apologized for losing her temper, and took back whatever punishment she'd given me. I assure you that she didn't lose any creditability when she did that. It was actually the best thing that ever happened for our relationship."

"Okay," Mycroft says. "God, I'm going to have to take some classes in parenting. Everything was going so well that I'd actually started to believe I could do this. I should have seen this coming, and been prepared.

"You did see this coming, but being able to predict something is actually quite different from being able to prevent it," Greg points out to him. "If you tell me that you still don't want me to come over there I’ll listen, but I would love to be there for you tonight, even if it were just for a little bit."

"I really appreciate that, but maybe we can reschedule for Friday."

"Okay," Greg agrees. "Hang in there Mycroft. You’re better at this than you think you are."

Mycroft clicks the phone down, and then rummages through the junk drawer until he finds a screwdriver that he uses to undo the lock in his brother's room. Sherlock is burning several pencils in a way which can't be called an experiment nearly so much as obnoxious behavior. Mycroft grabs a blanket off his brother's bed and uses it to put the fire out. Sherlock takes a lighter out of his pocket completely unphased, but Mycroft knocks it to the ground before he has the chance to light it.

"Sherlock, I am sorry I came down on you so hard. I should have considered how difficult the last few months have been for you and made allowances for your behavior."

"Allowances," Sherlock snorts.

"I understand this is difficult." Then Mycroft sighs. "That's probably not true. I am not going to understand unless you start actually talking to me. You've been abused by your sister for almost your whole life. I know she called you stupid rather regularly, and God knows that there is a much larger gap between the intelligence of those children than there ever was between you and Eurus. I'll support whatever the school decides to do, but I'm not going to add on extra punishments. I'm sorry that I lost my temper, and that I tried to control you. I shouldn't have let my anger get away from me. I'm sure that after everything that happened with Eurus being controlled probably doesn't feel very safe for you."

"Mycroft, I do not want understanding from you," Sherlock says with a glare.

"Okay, tell me what you do want from me then. What can I do that would make things better?"

"Oh my God!" Sherlock exclaims in an acid tone. "You are as bad as the psychologist that you insist on. I do not want to be fucking understood by you!"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft scolds.

"Get the fuck out of my room!" Sherlock exclaims, having just discovered that swearing was an effective way to cause his brother distress. Mycroft doesn’t respond. He just stares at his brother in shock.

"You're a liar, Mycroft!" Sherlock says, picking up a book off the floor and flinging it toward his brother. Mycroft just stands there unmoving as the book flies past, knocking a corked flask to the floor.

"I don't know where the actual line is," Sherlock says glumly. "Apparently it's somewhere between bullying and throwing a book. You have to tell me where the line is."

"What line are you talking about?" Mycroft asks in shock.

"The line where you stop loving me," Sherlock says.

"I will never stop loving you." Mycroft moves forward to hug his brother.

Sherlock pushes him away again, looking distressed, "No! You did."

"When? Sherlock, when did I stop loving you? Are you talking about when you were little, and you pushed me away? I'm sorry that I let you do that, but honestly I thought that was what you wanted. What am I going to have to do to prove to you that you are not going to be leaving my life ever again?"

"Not me," Sherlock says. "But you have unloved people before, and it's hard for me to trust...when you've unloved someone before how can I be sure that you're not going to do it to me?"

"Who? Who did I unlove, Sherlock?" Mycroft demands.

"Eurus," Sherlock says.

Mycroft bends over in shock, and he feels his brother's hand rubbing his back as he tries to get his breath back. His brother is saying something, and a part of him wants to keep blocking it out in case it’s something which is going to level him as much as the last words that his brother said, but somewhere inside of himself he finds the courage to listen, and is more than a little bit relieved when his brother is just whispering the word 'sorry' over and over.

Mycroft sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at his brother seriously. "I had no idea that you wanted me to have contact with Eurus. I'd assumed that that would upset you.”

"I..." Sherlock looks at Mycroft more than a bit confused. "I am angry at her-all the time. So unbelievably angry, but I also think about her a lot. I think about how scared I would be if I were in jail all the time, and no one ever came to see me."

"That's good, Sherlock. It shows empathy," Mycroft says with a smile. "So you are asking me to go and see Eurus?"

"I'm not asking you to do anything," Sherlock says. "I don't think it really....I mean, it's about you wanting to be her brother even after everything. You tell me that you would love me no matter what, and then I see that you really wouldn't. And I don't intend to commit murder, but..."

"No, your point is fair. Family is forever and going to visit her would probably be good for me as well as for her. I have a lot of anger pointed toward her, and as long as I'm not actually looking at her, that anger has nowhere to go, and so it just sits and festers."

"I...want to go with you," Sherlock says.

"Oh, Sherlock. I don't know that that's a good idea," Mycroft says protectively.

Sherlock looks down. "You said that seeing her would help you heal, would help you with your anger, and...I need help too."

"You are probably not wrong, Sherlock, but the idea of her in the same room as you, able to tell you something which could hurt you...I don't like it. I'm only going to be willing to think about this if you are willing to actually start working therapy like you actually mean it. You understand me?"

Sherlock nods. He stares at his feet so long that Mycroft is about to wrap the whole thing up with a hug, before a quiet voice asks, "Who has custody of Eurus?"

"The state," Mycroft says.

Sherlock looks up at him. "Why isn't it you?"

Mycroft feels gutted again, "Sherlock, I can't stand the thought of you being in the same house as her ever again. I am angry at myself for letting her hurt you once, and I could never forgive myself if I let her hurt you all over again."

"But she won't be living in the same house as us, at least not right away, you know. She’s in jail until people think she’s not a danger to the public, and maybe that is going to be forever."

"I'm not willing to take that risk," Mycroft insists.

"I think she deserves to be taken care of by her big brother. At least as much as I deserve it."

"Sherlock, I am barely qualified to take care of you, even when you've been behaving amazingly. I am in no way qualified to take on her much more...substantial needs."

"It would mean something to her," Sherlock says. "And you know there are very few chances that she'll get out while she is still a child, and even if she does, we'll have a say in it. If her guardian says she's not ready to leave I really doubt any judge is going to release her from prison."

"I will think about it, Sherlock. Now, you are going to have to have a session of therapy where your therapist says you've done a good job before I even consider taking you along when I visit Eurus," Mycroft says, standing up from his brother's bed.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow Talk

Mycroft finishes snogging his boyfriend very completely before collapsing on his partner's chest. He pulls back and opens his mouth to say something but quickly closes it again and puts his head against Greg's chest.

"What?" Greg says tilting his head at him. Mycroft shakes his head without pulling away from Greg.

"You could tell me," Greg assures him.

"No," Mycroft says into his partner's chest hairs.

Greg breathes a couple of times, certain that he can guess what his partner is going to tell him. He slowly realizes that even if he is guessing wrong, this is something that he wants to get  off of his chest.

"I love you," Greg tells him.

Mycroft buries his head further into Greg's chest, and Greg can feel the heat of Mycroft's blush against his bare chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I know that its' rather early to say these things, and just because I was thinking them doesn't mean that I should let them come out of my big stupid mouth."

Mycroft pulls away enough that he can study his face, "I....I feel..."  and then he hides his face again.

"You don't have to say anything," Greg says running his hand along his lover's back.

"I feel things for you too," Mycroft mutters.

"I know," Greg says kissing the top of his head.

"No, I didn't say it, and you shouldn't accept that. I am being cowardly. You  should not let me get away  with it ," Mycroft says in a whining voice.

"Mycroft it is perfectly normal for one person to be ready to say things like this before someone else is. Particularly when one person jumps the gun as early in this  relationship as I did."

It takes Greg a second or two to realize that the wetness of his chest is coming from tears.

"What's wrong?" he says as he pulls Mycroft away from him so that he can examine his face. He senses that he is making his lover more uncomfortable, so he snuggles his boyfriend back into him, and puts his limbs over him in order to hold him close, giving Mycroft the pressure that he needs.

After a while, Mycroft pulls away. He looks in Greg's eyes as if he is being pulled apart, "I think we should take a break for a while."

"Oh God,  can we just forget that I said that I loved you too soon, instead? I'm sorry?" Greg pleads panicking.

"No," Mycroft says gripping his sides, "No, you didn't do it wrong.  It's me.  I'm wrong .  It's ...too much. It's too intense, and I can't bear it."

Greg pulls him under himself giving him a lot of pressure again, and after a bit he says, "Loving someone is scary. It is the scariest thing that we ever do as human beings. But this is also the most amazing  thing that  we'll ever do. If we need to slow down, we can, if we need to take breaks in between things to help you decompress with pressure, we can do that."

Mycroft tips Greg to the side, and then laces his hands with his. He takes a few deep breaths. "I am afraid of what will happen if I lose you. I already feel....too much...more than I can stand, and if I let myself fall for you more ....than ....how will I survive it when it ends?"

"You are strong enough to survive anything, Mycroft, but I hope you are not going to have to survive the end of us."

Mycroft quivers and nuzzles him.

"Still," Mycroft says "Sherlock is struggling right now, and I feel like I have to put him first. Figuring out how to date while I  have to figure out how to take care of him...that's going to be too much. Also, he wants me to start being around Eurus. It's...too much to process, and there is no way that I can do all of this. It's really too much! You take up so much space in my heart and my head, and I can't afford that right now."

Greg finds his heart clenching, "I will respect you if you ask me to leave your life right now. This is within your rights, okay? But I don't want to be a burden to you. I don't want to be something which makes your life harder, okay? I want to be someone who takes your burden from you, and makes your life easier and if that’s not  happening I'm doing it wrong."

Mycroft pulls away, and stares at him, "I don't want to be a burden to you either.”

"Oh, trust me my darling, I am never going to see you like that! Okay? When I  am able to help you that  actually makes me happy. I would love to go with you when you go to visit Euros. I know that is going to be really hard for you, and I don't want you to have to do it alone."

Mycroft nods, but he still looks uncomfortable.

"Look, I know this bit...this us in bed...it's hard for you to handle," he waves away Mycroft's objection, "I know you like it, but it's still intense, and if we need to take a step back. Even if we need to go back to being friends we can."

Mycroft buries his head in his chest, and Greg holds him until the tension goes out of his body. Then he rubs his back ever so slightly and goes to stand up.

"Where are you going?" Mycroft asks in a mournful voice.

"Seriously?" Greg says choked up, "You just broke up with me, I'm not  going to stay in your bed."

"No, I didn't...I want to be more than friends," Mycroft says holding out his hand to him. Greg goes back into his bed and pulls him close to him. "I am... emotionally reliant on you in a way that  I've never needed another person emotionally in my whole life, not even my parents. It scares me."

"I'm not going anywhere," Greg promises.

"Please don't make promises like that, don't make promises that you don't know whether or not you can keep."

"Okay," Greg agrees, "I won't make those promises to you. Yet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical dificulties prevented my Saturday post, so you get one on Monday. :P


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go to visit Eurus.

Mycroft does not know what he had been expecting when it came to the place where his little sister was being held, but he certainly wasn't expecting this stark industrial room barely twice as large as the bed. It looks like prison, and even though he said that he wanted his sister to be in prison months ago he can't stand the thought of her in this room, and it hasn’t gotten easier even though it is the second time that he’s been here.

"How many hours a day do you stay here?" Sherlock asks shocked by his first sight of it.

"Oh, the ones with good behavior, they go down and eat dinner, and they go into the yard for two hours a day. They can even earn game and TV time in the day room. Me, I only leave to go to the bathroom because my behavior is very, very, bad. I'm a murderer, and that is scary," Eurus says seriously.

She's gone back to wearing her hair in pig tails, like she did when she was six. She looks small and innocent, and Mycroft remembers what she looked like the first time that he'd held her, when she was no more than a newborn baby.

"Would you like decorations?" he says, staring at the blank white walls. "Perhaps I could talk to someone about them."

"I drew things," Eurus smiles. "But they took them down, and then they took away the crayons Mycroft asked them to give me the last time he was here.

"Only when it's your dead mother's anatomy," the guard standing by the door says bitterly.

Mycroft flinches.

"Who is the new one?" Eurus says moving to stand right before Greg, tilting her head this way and that.

"I'm Greg," he says cheerfully.

"I meant the dog. You're not part of our family," she says, turning away with an air of disregard which cuts Greg more than he'd like to admit. She looks at Sherlock. "You named the dog after the little boy in the well, didn't you? Oh, they pretend that you’re different, but you're just as morbid as I am," she says with excitement in her voice.

Mycroft moves to wrap his hand around his brother. "He might be a bit morbid, Eurus, but he doesn't hurt other people.”

Eurus meets his eyes. "Oh, brother mine," she says, mocking the warm words that Mycroft had used toward his siblings when he was small. "You feel the need to date your bodyguard. Are you sure that the psychologists shouldn't turn their art on you?"

When she doesn’t get the reaction that she wanted, Eurus tilts her head at Greg again. "How did he convince you to put up with him?"

"I find your brother very easy to ‘put up with’," Greg replies.

"I'm bored," Eurus says, walking over to collapse on her bed in a rather dramatic fashion. She bangs against it revealing it to be harder than it looks, causing Mycroft to flinch.

"I bet you are a lot more bored when we’re not here," Sherlock offers.

"Oh, how adorable. My dear brother, you think that you are capable of entertaining me? You're like an ant to me, stupid little brother."

"He's not stupid," Mycroft says.

"People like to watch ants. It's a hobby and everything. You could make a hobby of us," Sherlock says, looking at her seriously.

Eurus sits up staring at them. "What do the ants get out of it?"

"We love you Eurus, and you are a member of our family. Forever. No matter what. And I'm sorry that we went so long not seeing you,” Mycroft says.

"So, you've gotten over the fact that I killed our parents already? Looks like you hated them as much as I did."

"I didn't hate them, Eurus, and I am far from okay with what you did. But I also understand that you are still my sister. I shouldn't have let my anger separate us. You deserve to be loved, and that's the only thing that could make you better---if anything ever can,” Mycroft points out.

"They deserved to die,” Eurus says in a tone of voice much too bored for the conversation.

"No. No one really deserves that, and certainly not our parents," Mycroft argues, a touch of anger coloring his voice. Greg touches his back in order to offer him support.

"They were ants. I have grown up in a world of ants," she says. "I was alone from the moment that I was born. It was abuse, growing up in that home. Tell me stranger," she says turning toward Greg. "What would you call it if someone had a child and locked them up in the cellar, never talking to it, never letting it see other people. You know they did that to illegitimate children back in the day, and the children would go mad, and be unable to speak?"

"Our parents never locked you up, Eurus. You went to school, and they planned play dates for you. I It's not their fault you always frightened the other children away," Mycroft objects.

"The whole world was a dull cellar to me," Eurus says.

"I'm sure that's true," Sherlock says. "But that was never their fault.”

"You, brother dear,” Eurus says to Mycroft. “Could follow me if I went slow enough, but you never did. I couldn't control you. That one," she says looking at Sherlock, causing the younger boy to swallow. "Was a delightful toy. A pet. If you really want me to be entertained, you might leave me alone with him and see how long it would take me to unravel his mind completely."

"That's not going to happen, Eurus. You are never going to be left alone with Sherlock ever again," Mycroft says firmly.

Eurus tilts her head again completely surprised by the deduction she’s just made. "Really?"

"What?" Mycroft asks, concerned wondering what his sister had just seen.

"You're thinking of taking custody of me? Why on Earth would you do that?" she says in awe.

"I've told you... you are my sister, and I want you to get better. If you do get well enough to live outside of a place like this I want you to land with your family," Mycroft says.

Eurus blinks at him.

Mycroft turns to the guard. "All this white is...can't I get some colorful bedding? Is there anything that we could put up on the walls if her own artwork is forbidden? It's so stark, and that can't be...can't be good."

"It is true that industrial settings have a negative effect on mental health," Sherlock offers.

"I'll talk to the boss, and see what we can work out," the man says.

"It is.... a worse cellar," Eurus says. "All the world is a cellar, but this is a particularly dull room."

"I know," Mycroft says. "And if you follow the rules than you will get to have more privileges-you'll get to go outside and eat dinner with others. We'll try to make this place more cheerful, and we'll be back next week."

They talk for a bit under an hour, and when they leave Mycroft stops to talk to an official about the fact that the library cart has been skipping Eurus room because she’d terrified the poor worker who ran it.

"You're her guardian, then?" the official asks.

"Not exactly, but we are the only family she has. I'm not sure how official custody works for people who are behind bars, but I have custody of my little brother."

"You'd know if you were her guardian. I'm sure that she is a ward of the state."

"Would these requests for bettering her condition get more merit if I were her guardian?" Mycroft asks with suspicion.

"I don't know about that for sure," the administrator says. "I was just wondering that myself."

"I... don't know if I'm ready for that exactly. She's my sister, and I want the best for her, I do. But the idea of being in charge of her...of trying to control her? That's something that scares me more than I could ever express to you."

"Well, she does serve at her Majesty's Pleasure, doesn't she? So, we're not about to let her go home with anyone unless we’re sure that she’s not a threat to the public. If I'm being perfectly honest, I'll be a bit surprised if she doesn't end up serving life. But she'll have a better chance of becoming rehabilitated and free if she's got you in her corner."

Mycroft offers him a smile and spends part of the ride home considering how to get Uncle Rudy and their lawyer to improve his little sister’s conditions, but before too long his mind turns to being a guardian of Eurus. It scares him, but so did taking care of Sherlock or dating Greg, or really anything in his life that gave his life any kind of meaning.

It would matter to Sherlock and it would matter to Eurus, and he can't imagine the idea of Eurus leaving that place and going to live with another family. As much as he doesn’t trust himself to handle her, he trusts a stranger far less.

He also finds himself no longer comfortable with the idea of his little sister, in the stark empty room for the rest of her life. It doesn't feel as different from locking the crazy relative down in the cellar as he would like it to be.

Mycroft is still angry at her-he can feel the fury deep down in his soul, but he understands that she’s only a child. Eurus really had been given a raw deal when you looked at it seriously. Mycroft did not blame their parents as his sister did. They hadn't given her sister what she had needed, but they had given her everything that they knew how to give her.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock asks. "I know that she tried some kinds of manipulation, but it really didn't feel like enough, did it? I keep feeling like I missed something, and with Eurus missing something is always a danger."

"Oh, I don't know," Greg says. "Granted, I'm not a genius like your whole family, and I have no doubt that there were things that I missed there, but I think we should take some of what she is saying at face value. I thought she was really affected by the fact that you came. Also, you have to figure in the fact that being locked up had to have an effect on her."

"I've seen her act sorrier about things that I know that she was not sorry about."

"I don't know. You might be right, but I think that being locked away changes a person," Greg offers.

"I just hope it's not going to be a change for the worse. Did you see that place they’re keeping her? It's not the right place for a child."

Sherlock pauses for a while. "You're thinking of taking her," he says very seriously.

"No, not really,” Mycroft says worrying his bottom lip. “Well, yes but you've got veto in that. I know she abused you, horribly, and I won't consider this if you are against it. But it would mean something to her, and it might not even mean she would necessarily live with us. If she was getting out and we didn't think that she was ready Uncle Rudy could probably block it."

"You need to get guardianship of her,” Sherlock says seriously. “She's our sister. We'll figure out what living together will look like when it gets to that. We’re not ready to worry about it yet."

"I wouldn't ever let her be around you without supervision. I can promise you that, Sherlock, even if she came to live with us."

"Okay," Sherlock says seriously. "But you have to ask Greg."

"He doesn’t have to ask me. This is a family matter, and if the two of you are both okay with it than I don't have anything to add. Although for the record I am for it. It was really sad to visit her, wasn't it?"

Mycroft nods.

"Is she getting counseling there?" Greg asks.

"Oh, I never thought to ask!" Mycroft says, shocked at himself. That was probably a more important thing to worry about than how decorated her room was.

"Well, there were quite a lot of things to focus on during that one outing, so I can see how you wouldn't have gotten it all," Greg says, giving his hand a squeeze. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Mycroft says.

"How about you?" Greg asks looking over at Sherlock. "Did you catch any sneaky things that we missed?"

"Not really. It was actually a whole lot less horrible than I thought it was," Sherlock says. Then he looks at them seriously. "Do you think there is any hope for Eurus?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Sherlock,” Mycroft says. “But I intend to figure it out."


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes missing.

They fall into a new pattern with Mycroft going to a parenting class once a week, and the three of them going to see Eurus once a week in the room which is now full of color.

She is even more stubborn about actually sharing anything with Mycroft than Sherlock was. Mycroft adds on a separate meeting with her while their brother is at school whenever the psychologist texts him that she behaved during a session.

Eurus is lonely. She had been lonely her whole life, and Mycroft had never understood it. Now, when she’s given concrete ways to eliminate the abject loneliness, she is eager to take advantage of them. Her psychologist sets up a reward and punishment system which allows her to earn or lose minutes with her family by simple actions like eating dinner downstairs without being mean to anyone or leaving her new room decorations untouched. She loses time when she is violent, manipulative or cruel.

Most weeks she earns the maximum time: two and a half hours. She also earns time in the courtyard, and although that is rough going at first she slowly learns to be among others in an unstructured environment without causing harm.

A big help is that girls in the detention home are not as easy to manipulate as the girls from the gifted school that she went to before. Little by little she learns to interact with them in a way that does not induce their fury. She does better with concrete things like chess and sports.

Mycroft gets custody, and then is allowed to create a school curriculum for his little sister. Which is to say, he gives Eurus a great deal of freedom in what she was to study but requires the output of whatever she studied to be presented in a formal and structured way.

She threw her handwritten research papers (her behavior did not yet warrant access to computers) at Mycroft more than once, but she was both learning and doing more than she had ever done when she was actually going to school.

Mycroft's parenting class comes to an end after six weeks, and Mycroft finds himself rather confident that he has a handle on anything that might come his way.

He's proven wrong by a phone call from his brother's school halfway through the morning. "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Holmes. We know that you haven't had custody of your brother very long, but it's customary for the guardians to call in when a student is going to be out of school for the day."

"Sherlock's not at school?" Mycroft says with his stomach dropping. "I dropped him off there this morning."

"Oh, dear, well, I suppose this is exactly the situation this system was meant to catch. I am sorry. No one at school has seen him at all today."

"Thank you for calling. I am going to go look for him, right now," Mycroft says.

He actually can’t go looking for him right away though. Instead, he puts his head between his legs for a long time after getting off the phone. He breathes deeply until the feeling like he is dying or going to throw up passes. He wants to call Greg, but he already feels like he is over-relying on his boyfriend. Besides Greg is at work, and Mycroft doesn't want to distract him there.

No, he's in charge of his brother, and he's just going to have to go around the neighborhood where he dropped his brother off this morning and find him.

***

Four hours later Mycroft stops back at his flat, desperately hoping that his brother would have come home at the normal time having no idea that he was caught. The flat is empty, but the answering machine is blinking. Mycroft rushes over. The message is from only a short time after Mycroft left to search for his brother. He presses the button, and hears Greg's voice crack over the machine.

"Hey, Mycroft, ah...So, I caught Sherlock skipping school. Everything's fine. I've got him down at the police station with me right now. He's not arrested or anything. If you can come get him that would be great, otherwise I guess it's still bring your boyfriend's brother to work day." He laughs a bit at his own joke, and then the line goes dead.

Mycroft closes his eyes. Lestrade knew how irresponsible he was. He’s known for hours, and his brother has spent the better part of a day at the police station because Mycroft hadn't called Greg for help. So much for having the parenting thing under control.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft goes to retrieve his brother at the police station.

"Hello," Mycroft says awkwardly. "Can you point me to where Officer Lestrade is working?"

"Finally! You've come to retrieve the runt!" the lady behind the front desk exclaims.

"He's been causing problems?" Mycroft asks nervously.

"He's 'deduced' everyone here, criminal or cop, within an inch of their lives," she says, pointing Mycroft in the right direction.

Lestrade is sitting at a desk and Sherlock is laying on the floor between his desk and the one next to him. Sherlock is making comments about the man's liaison with a woman he'd charged with prostitution after she'd been released.

"Sherlock! Get up, we're leaving!" Mycroft exclaims.

"Mycroft," Lestrade says, looking relieved. "I was worried when you didn't call me back. Where were you? You only had one class this afternoon."

"I was looking for him," Mycroft admits, even though he seriously debates lying about it. "The school called. What was he doing when you found him?"

"Nothing!" Sherlock shouts, jumping off the floor.

"Smoking," Lestrade says.

"Oh my God! Why can't you be cool?" Sherlock says, glaring at him.

"I'm going to be an adult!" Lestrade says. "If it helps," he tells Mycroft, "I did make him write a five-page essay about the dangers of smoking after watching a few very grisly videos on the subject."

"Now that I have illegally been held against my will without being charged for most of the day, can we go home?" Sherlock snarls.

"Yes," Mycroft says and his brother marches past him. "Thank you, and I am really sorry that I didn't get your message right away. I didn't mean to leave him with you all day."

"It's no problem," Greg says. "I'll pick up some food and come over when I get off in two hours."

"I think you've done more than enough for us today," Mycroft says, hustling after his brother before Greg can even respond.

When Mycroft gets his brother into the taxi he starts the interrogation. "Do you still have the cigarettes on you?"

"Lestrade took them."

"How long have you been smoking for?"

"It was the first time."

"Well it had also better be the last time."

"Oh my God," Sherlock says, flopping against the back of the taxi’s seat. "It's not that big of a deal! Honestly, you should be more upset that I was arrested and held against my will all day. That's probably bigger than whatever the legal punishment for smoking actually is."

"Do you intend to do this again?" Mycroft asks in a dangerous sounding voice.

"I won't," Sherlock says, crossing his arms.

"Okay, then we need to start talking about the fact that you skipped school."

"Mycroft," Sherlock whines.

"I did not know where you were for hours today," Mycroft says in a tone which is enough to cause the taxi driver to glance over his shoulder in concern.

"I just needed a break!" Sherlock exclaims. "I just needed five minutes where people weren’t looking at me with fucking pity!"

Mycroft pauses. "Okay. The next time you need a break you tell me, and I will call you in sick to school. I will know where you are, and you won't be doing anything illegal. Then I won't have to worry about whether or not you were still alive."

Sherlock blinks at him. "That's what you thought?"

"It's not rational, Sherlock, but I lost my parents not that long ago, and that's where my first thought went. I don't want to ever feel like that again. I never want to worry about whether or not I've lost you again. I need to know where you are every single second until you turn eighteen, and I am no longer legally responsible for you. There is no negotiation with this."

"Okay," Sherlock says.

"It's a big step that you felt like you could do something this bull headed," Mycroft says.

"Greg called you, and you didn't come," Sherlock says in a shaky voice.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft says, pulling his brother into a side hug to comfort him. "I was out looking for you."

"I thought you weren't coming because you were mad at me. You left me at a police station all day, and I thought...I might have caused too much trouble for you to be my guardian anymore."

"God, no! Never," Mycroft promises him, pulling his brother even closer. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you right away. I was looking for you. I promise. You were my priority. You always are."


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft work on the concept of intimacy. Only, they both have different definitions of exactly what that means.

Greg arrives the next day with an arm full of groceries. They all chop and simmer and chat, and then Sherlock retreats to his bedroom in order to escape the tension. Mycroft no longer has any excuse not to talk about what is bothering Greg.

"What are we doing here Mycroft?" he asks.

"Dishes," Mycroft says.

Greg snorts, and Mycroft doesn't have the heart to tell him that he hadn't meant it as a joke. "You know what I mean. What sort of a relationship are we in? Because clearly I overstepped when I took care of Sherlock yesterday, but I don't know what else I was supposed to do. Leave him outside the petrol station with his smokes? I fucking called you, and when you didn't show up, I did the best I could. Honestly, I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. I've taken care of Sherlock before, right? So, is it that you only trust me when you're in the room?"

"No, I trust you," Mycroft says.

"I don't know if I believe that. You were out looking for your brother? Your fucking brother was missing, and you didn't think to call me to help?"

Mycroft starts to cry, and although Greg is still angry he pulls the other man into his chest. He's already figured out that this is the fastest way to calm him down. Mycroft manages to get some words in among the sobs. "He's my brother, my responsibility. I don't want you to think...I don't want you to see me like that. I didn't want you to know...I'm a terrible brother."

Greg puts his forehead against Mycroft’s. "You're not a bad brother because he choose to rebel. That's...a normal reaction for a traumatized kid his age. The problem here is that you didn't trust me. You didn't let me help you. Or worse, you thought that I would react poorly if I found out you needed help."

Mycroft sobs harder. "Are you leaving?"

"No, of course not. Can we go back to the original question now, though? How serious do you think this thing between us is?"

"V-very serious," Mycroft stammers.

"Okay, well, you're going to have to prove this to me. People in serious relationships rely on each other when there is a family crisis."

"I'm sorry I didn't call you, Greg, and I will next time. I'll be terrified you'll leave me, but I'll still do it."

"Okay, and I really hope that you will never be in a situation like this again, but this goes beyond yesterday. There needs to be intimacy between us."

Mycroft pulls back his head and spins around. "You said that you didn't care if we had sex. Why are you changing your mind? Did I just take too long?"

Greg sighs. "Okay, poor word choice. You know that word has more than one meaning. What I'm talking about here is...you need to rely on me, and I can't be the only one willing to be open and vulnerable."

"I...don't know how to do that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to do that," Mycroft says, reaching toward him.

Greg softens. "I'm sorry. It just sometimes feels like I’m always pushing you to do things that you don't want to do, like you're just playing a game of follow the leader. I don't ever know if you want to go where I’m going. It's not comfortable for me never to know if I’m pressuring you or begging, because I do not want to be that bloke.”

"You want to feel wanted," Mycroft says, nodding his head.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Greg smiles. "Maybe that's a part of it. More than I thought. I want to feel needed, like I'm an important enough part of your life that if I dropped out tomorrow you would notice. Sometimes I feel like you won’t care, or you might even be relieved. It would be less work without me. Less of those nasty emotions."

"If you dropped out of my life tomorrow," Mycroft says, reaching out his hand to touch Greg's cheek. "The bottom of my life would drop out. I..." Mycroft has to take a few breaths to calm himself down. "I would never recover. In fact, I'd love it if you were here all the time."

Greg takes a step back, and tilts his head at Mycroft. "I'm sorry. Did you just ask me to move in with you?"

"Yes," Mycroft says.

"Jesus, Mycroft," Greg says.

Mycroft crumples to the floor, and Greg crouches down next to him. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

Mycroft shakes his head and pushes him away. Greg sits back on his haunches, and just looks at Mycroft in concern. Mycroft forces deep breaths into his lungs, and then he sits up.

"Okay now?" Greg asks.

Mycroft nods, feeling humiliated.

"Was it medical? Should I call 999?"

Mycroft shakes his head again, and this causes Greg to let a long breath whoosh out of his mouth. "Okay, good, can you tell me what happened?"

"Not really," Mycroft says with another breath. "It's...something that happens to me sometimes. My parents called them tantrums."

"Sweetie, that was not what they were. Can I hold you now?"

Mycroft nods, holding out his hands, and Greg scoots over to hold him to his chest.

"Tighter," Mycroft whispers, pulling Greg closer to him.

"Hey, sorry about my reaction there," Greg whispers.

"You asked me to be vulnerable and take a first step, and then you said no," Mycroft says with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, that was pretty cruel, but I didn't mean it to be," Greg says seriously. "I was just a little taken aback."

"Why?" Mycroft says "Why don't you want to move in? You’re over here a few nights a week already."

"No, you're right. I would have responded to that better if it hadn't taken me by surprise. There are just some things that usually happen before you move in with someone."

"You mean sex," Mycroft says.

"No, honey," Greg says, tilting his head against his partner's. "I think this would be easier if you assumed I never mean sex unless I actually say sex. We've done some of the things I think are necessary-cooking together, like we did tonight and sleeping in the same bed. And we've already talked about the being more vulnerable. But I do think there is one thing more, and maybe I need to make an exception in your case, but...you've never met my parents."

"You've never talked about them," Mycroft says.

"No, well, I mean your parents had just died, and I didn't want to bring up any painful memories..." Greg says. "And if it's too hard..."

"I would love to meet your parents," Mycroft says seriously. "I've introduced you to the little family that I have left, so.... when could we meet them?"

"They live quite a ways from London. We'll either have to do a round trip-which would be mostly driving the whole day away-or we could do what I normally do. Drive up and spend the night."

"I'd normally say spend the night, but I don't want to leave Sherlock that long."

"Oh!" Greg says blinking at him in surprise. "You mean we're not bringing him?"

"Your parents would want to meet my little brother?"

Greg interlaces his hands with Mycroft's. "Mycroft moving in is moving toward us being a family in my mind. If that's not where we’re headed, I don't think that you should meet my parents. But when I say serious, I mean...serious, and in that case my parents and your brother have a good chance of becoming family, don't you think?"

“Yeah," Mycroft says grinning, and using their interlaced hands in order to pull Greg close to him and bury his face against his chest.

Red Beard bolts out of Sherlock's room chased by a puff of smoke. She stops her run when she sees humans on the floor and runs over to them to kiss their faces. Showing exactly how much two months in the Holmes residence has changed her rather stand-offish personality around the humans in her family.

"Yes, Red Beard, thank you," Mycroft says, pushing the dog away before getting off the floor so he can go figure out exactly how much damage his brother has done.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serious topics are discussed during a car ride.

"I still don't understand why I have to go," Sherlock says with his arms crossed. "I'm not the one dating Greg."

"Because I'm your guardian, Sherlock, and his parents naturally want to meet someone that I am raising,” Mycroft says.

"You're Eurus's guardian now too, and she doesn't have to be here," Sherlock pouts.

"I hardly think those are comparable cases," Mycroft says with a big sigh.

"But just to be clear, if I did commit murder in the next few hours I wouldn’t have to meet Greg's parents?" Sherlock says cheerfully.

"If you commit murder in the next few hours we are all moving into Greg's old bedroom," Mycroft says. "You and Red Beard will snuggle in right between us."

Greg chokes on air, and Sherlock glares at both of them.

"Seriously, Sherlock, we are a little bit short on family, you and I. I think we should both be pretty glad that Greg wants to share his with us."

"He's not your family until you get married," Sherlock says, ignoring the blush from his brother. "But I do plan on calling his parents Gramps and Gram. That will alarm them."

"Yeah, it won't alarm you half as much as you think it will. They’re pretty young to have a teenager calling them that, but they certainly have grandparent fever."

"You're only twenty-three!" Mycroft exclaims.

"I know," Greg tilts his head. "They planned a big family, but something went wrong when I was born, so I was all they got."

"I'm sorry," Mycroft says.

"They did foster care for a long time, but that wore their hearts a bit thin, you know. There was so much love in it, but so much loss too. It's been about five years since they've had the last kid in."

Sherlock puts in earphones and turns the volume up so loud that Mycroft has to turn around and tell him to turn the music down to avoid damaging his ears.

Mycroft remembers what Greg had said about being vulnerable, and he decides that if Greg was willing to share this with him, he should be willing to share something back. "I remember the day my mom quit her job." Greg glances at him, and Mycroft takes a breath before continuing. "She was a maths professor, you know. In the few years after I was born. She just took off six months when I was a baby. There was a day when I was probably three or four, and she wanted me to go to the park. But it wasn't the time we normally went. She was taking me earlier because her class had been canceled, and the weather was looking bad later in the day. I hit the ground in one of my tantrums."

Greg grips the steering wheel more tightly. "You mean like what happened to you last night?

"Yes," Mycroft says. He hates vulnerability. It’s like having your skin pelled off. He realizes too late to stop the thought of how close that metaphor is to the way that his mother died.

"Honey, I would not call that a tantrum."

"I know you said that last night, but there is no reason to be kind about it. I know how ridiculous it is that I am still having them at my age," Mycroft says.

"First of all, it's perfectly normal for a toddler to have a tantrum, and if your mother quit her job because you had one that was clearly more about her than it was about you. Secondly, a tantrum is not the correct name for what happened last night. That was...a shutdown...maybe a panic attack. Mycroft, it hurts me that you think there’s something wrong with you, that someone made you believe that there was something wrong with you. And I want you to know that's not what I thought when I saw that. I thought that what’s happening to you must really suck. Maybe I wondered a little bit about how I could make it easier for you when it happens, but that’s all. I just-" Greg shakes his head. "I know that I shouldn't speak poorly of your dead mother, I'm sorry."

"No," Mycroft says softly. "You know when you are little, and your parent tells you something you have nothing to compare it to, and you just believe it all when they tell you that this is the way things are? My psychologist has been reacting to things I've shared from my childhood in much the same way that you have, and it's easier to believe her now."

"Good," Greg says, giving him a smile.

Mycroft takes a deep breath. "They weren't bad parents, you know. Not really. Our basic needs were always met, and they tried to meet our emotional ones. It was just...well, it was like I was a different species, and I spoke a different language."

"It wasn't your fault," Greg interrupts.

"No. I hear what you are saying, but I want you to understand that I am different than other people. Everyone else in my whole life has seen it, and I feel like it is my duty to tell you since you seem to keep missing it. But I'm starting to understand that doesn't excuse them, not wholly. You know, a baby is dropped into a family and the family has the choice of adjusting or not. They could have come into my world, like when I sit and let Sherlock explain the noxious fumes he's planning on producing." Sherlock responds with a little kick to the back of the seat. "But they didn't. I don't know if they didn't know how to do that, or if they just didn't want to."

Greg nods. "But she quit her job for you?"

"Yes. I can remember lying on the floor feeling like I couldn't breathe. My limbs were moving, and they wouldn't stop when I told them to. I knew that Mummy was cross with me. I felt like I was dying. Finally I got the breath back in my lungs, and she took me up on her lap, and told me not to worry. She would stay home with me." He debates leaving the last words off. It feels like he would be betraying his mother. "Because that's what parents had to do when they had a child who had a behavioral disorder."

"Fuck," Greg says.

Mycroft's stomach twists. He's pretty sure that Greg isn't mad at him, but he isn't certain. Mycroft decides not to ask because if Greg isn’t mad, he might become so at the question.

Sherlock giggles in the back seat at the swear word.

"Sorry," Greg says, giving a glance backwards.

"It's fine. No matter what he tries to lead you to believe it isn't the first time that he's ever heard that word.” Mycroft hesitates. The next words are hard to say but he knows that they are important. Proper communication, relationship building and all that. “Can you...help me understand.... who the anger was directed at?” Mycroft asks, pleased that he was vulnerable without crumpling to the floor this time.

Greg glances at him, and it's almost pitying, although not quite. He puts out an arm in order to give Mycroft a little squeeze in the neck before dropping it back to the wheel. "I am furious at your mother for having said something like that to you. I understand that she probably did it because she thought you were too young to understand or remember it. But those words are heavy, and they are not a weight for toddlers to bear. If your mother gave up her career to be a mother? Well, that's something people do sometimes, and it's not okay to blame the kid." Then he takes a deep breath. "And anyone who thinks you are someone with...." he grits his teeth not willing to say the next words. "Anyone who thought that about you is just plain wrong, that's all. And I'm sorry about talking about your mother like that."

"It's okay," Mycroft says. "I think I really needed to hear that. I... maybe needed permission to keep thinking things like that."

Greg smiles at him, and Mycroft hears Sherlock shifting in order to lean forward. Mycroft turns back, and gives his brother a smile, permission to talk.

"She told me that I was the reason that she left work."

"What?" Mycroft says. "That doesn't even make sense! She'd stopped working years before you were born."

"I didn't know that," Sherlock says. "Until today."

Mycroft feels the wind go out of him, and he lowers his head halfway down to his knees. "You were a perfect child, Sherlock. You never threw a tantrum."

"I was sneaky," Sherlock replies.

"God, are you two really competing for worse child right now?" Greg says in annoyance. "You do remember they also had a child whose committed murder don't you? Perhaps we should consider that they were rubbish parents, and the two of you turned out all right despite their parenting." Silence rains in the car. "Sorry if I went a bit far."

Mycroft reaches over, and gives Greg’s hand a squeeze. "Maybe you should tell us a bit more about your parents."

"Might be a good idea, but first, you haven't really said much about your father."

Mycroft couldn't find the words. They tangle in his mouth which stays open, but with nothing coming out of it.

"She always spoke for him," Sherlock says, and that sums it up better than Mycroft ever could.

"Well," Greg says, switching lanes in traffic. "It feels almost like bragging now, but I guess it really isn't because they are going to be your parents too. My dad was the sort who got down on the floor and joined whatever you were doing. My mom was much more into things like reading books to me or taking me on outings. She didn't really play with me, but I liked it in the same way that Sherlock sometimes likes to shut the door and get on with his experiments."

"Because if she knew what you were doing she would have stopped you?" Sherlock asks.

Mycroft turns to him. "That's why you like to shut the door? Sherlock, I'm not going to stop you unless you are really in danger."

"It was a joke, Mycroft," Sherlock says with an eye roll while his brother examines his face carefully in order to figure out whether or not he is telling the truth. He finally determines that he is.

"Okay," Mycroft says. "But I hope you know that I will enter into your world whenever you want me to. You're going to have to ask though because I'm not good at guessing about such things."

"That right there! Can we talk about that?" Greg says. "Where did that come from?"

Mycroft shrugs.

"You're a bloody human lie detector, and the most polite man I've ever met, and I'm pretty sure you could have a conversation with a rock if you thought it was necessary, and yet somehow you have the idea that you are terrible at social things. Why are you so wrong about this?"

"To be fair he was quite bad at social interaction when he was a child. He used to hide when Mummy invited friends over for play dates. Some of them thought it was just a game of hide and seek, but whenever they found him, he'd start to cry. She got so embarrassed by it that she stopped doing it."

Mycroft had forgotten that, and now Greg knows about it. But by some miracle Greg finds all of this impressive instead of horrifying. "So, you've studied all of that, you just figured it out on your own when it didn't come naturally. God, that's fucking amazing."

Mycroft doesn’t understand why Greg doesn’t want to leave him right now.

"You must be exhausted all the time," Greg says seriously, "Is it that hard to talk to me? Is it just effort every moment when you are in the same room as me?"

"Not usually," Mycroft says, "Sometimes it is, like that first date. But then you made it better when you said to pretend, we were friends. Usually with you, it's easier than with most people."

"Okay good," Greg says letting out a long breath with the smile returning to his face, "Because I don't want you to have to work hard around me, and if you are working hard it would be me who had to change, and not you."

That takes Mycroft's breath away, "I worry sometimes, that I am going to make you mad, and you are going to leave. If I do something weird, and you are upset you'll tell me won't you?"

"Of course," Greg assures him, "I hate that you've had to worry about that."

"And sometimes...when I get the idea that you're mad at me can I ask you or will that annoy you?" Mycroft asks tentatively.

Greg gives him a giant smile, "Always, please don't suffer if I can make it better."

"How should I...act around your parents?" Mycroft asks with a tense voice.

"Oh sweetie, you can be yourself, and they are going to love you. Anyway, they already know what they are getting when it comes to you."

"How?" Mycroft says in surprise.

Greg chuckles, "I have told them a lot about you," Mycroft shoots him a surprised look, "Oh come on now, you can't seriously be surprised. You are the main thing that I've talked to my parents about since I met you."

Mycroft turns toward the window to deal with his overwhelmed feelings, "What did you tell them?" he asks.

"That I'm dating this amazing man. Who is a handsome genius, and so unbelievably kind." He glances into the backseat where Sherlock is pretending not to listen, "And he's got a little brother who is also really smart and more kind than he pretends to be."

"You forgot handsome," Sherlock mutters.

"Well, no I didn't. Your brother is just about the youngest that I see as 'handsome," Greg says causing Mycroft to chuckle, and Sherlock to glare.

"You've explained to them about the basis of Eurus and my parents?" Mycroft asks.

Greg nods.

"Thank you. I'm not ready to tell the story to strangers yet. I don't know if I'll ever be. the words..."

"I know," Greg says giving him a quick smile, "It's okay, I'll tell the story for you as long as you need me to."


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the Parents

"You must be Sherlock," Mrs. Lestrade says, putting out her arms in an attempt to hug him.

"I don't hug strangers," he says, brushing past her to stand in the living room.

"I will," Mycroft says, holing out his hands, and immediately regretting the way he had worded things. Then he turns and gives Mr. Lestrade a hug.

"Greg doesn't normally introduce us to the fellas, although he showed us a few of the ladies that he's dated," Mrs. Lestrade says.

"Don't say it like that!" Greg objects. He turns to face Mycroft. "I was not trying to hide anything. I've only introduced them to two people I've dated, and they just happened to both be female."

"Well, I'm excited to meet a fella now," Mrs. Lestrade says. "And you've not been dating long, so it means something that he’s sure that it’s time for us to meet you already. You've only been dating for four months, haven't you?"

"The sleep overs are much more recent," Sherlock says in a monotone while leaning against the wall.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft exclaims in horror.

Mrs. Lestrade chuckles. "I'm under no delusions about the sorts of things that modern couples get up to And if I'm being perfectly honest, I got up to a few things when I was their age as well."

"Way too much information, Mom," Greg says as he hugs his parents.

"Well, you wouldn't be here if I hadn't, would you? So it shouldn't be news to you. All right, what will everyone have to drink?"

"I'll take whiskey," Sherlock says with a grin.

"If you're going to have a mouth on you like that I'll just have to have your brother order for you," she says, turning toward Mycroft.

"Tea, I think." Mycroft smiles. "For me as well."

"I'll come help you," Greg says, following his mother

That leaves the Holmes brothers with Mr. Lestrade. He’d not yet spoken, but he smiles and gestures them towards the living room.

"Pleased to meet you," Mycroft says, following him. Mycroft knows the greeting is wrong. He's been in the room with the man too long to use a phrase like that, but he doesn't know what word would be appropriate in this case. He doesn't have a whole lot of experience meeting his boyfriend's parents.

"My son is very fond of you. Do you return the favor?" Mr. Lestrade asks. His words are blunt, yet still contain a certain kind of warmth.

"Yes, sir," Mycroft replies.

"I hope there isn't going to be any breaking of hearts now. Are you certain that you are as serious as he is?"

"Yes, sir. I can't promise that I'll never hurt him, but I can promise that I will try my best not to."

Mr. Lestrade nods. "Good. Greg told us about how you took custody of your brother. We were quite glad that you decided to take responsibility for the child. It shows character, it does. Of course, we were sorry about the circumstances which led to it."

"I am not a child," Sherlock grumbles.

Mr. Lestrade tilts his head. "Of course you are. I'm not even quite sure if your brother and my son are not still children as well."

Sherlock leans back in the chair to glare at him.

"Greg tells me that you are an accountant," Mycroft says, trying to unstick conversation.

Mr. Lestrade nods his head, and the conversation pitters to an end. Mycroft struggles to steer the small talk in another direction. "You have a favorite football team? Probably the same one as Gregory." Mycroft hopes that Mr. Lestrade doesn't expect him to remember the name. Greg has in fact talked about football a few times, but it, like anything that Mycroft was not interested in, fell out of his brain without being retained.

"Ah, but you don't have any interest in sports," Mr. Lestrade says rather bluntly.

Mycroft starts to panic as his social skills run out. He looks at Sherlock, hoping that the franticness in his eyes will indicate his need to be bailed out, but his brother does not offer him any help.

"I'll go see if they need some help in the kitchen," Mycroft says, and he starts to walk to the kitchen, but stops in the hallway. He dreads the thought of being in another situation that he doesn't know how to cope with. He just melts down against the hallway wall, sitting there while trying to catch his breath. He plans to get up before anyone sees, but he loses track of time and is alerted to this with the sound of Greg's voice saying his name.

"What's wrong? Is he hurt?" Mrs. Lestrade asks.

"Just go on to the front room, Mum. I'll come back for him when I've dropped off the teacups," Greg says.

Mycroft tries to get himself back together before Greg returns, but he doesn't quite manage it. Greg sits down next to him but doesn't touch him. Greg breathes deeply next to him, and Mycroft works hard to match his breath.

Mycroft feels tears stinging at his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Greg. I was determined not to make a fool out of myself."

"Did my father say something to upset you?" Greg asks in confusion.

"It's not his fault," Mycroft says. Resting his head against the wall he laughs. "Now do you believe me that I am rubbish at people?"

"Never," Greg says,glad that Mycroft has his humor back. "What do you need? We can go back to London if you want. Or go up to my bedroom and decompress. Or have tea with my family. Whatever you need," he says softly.

"I'll just go into the powder room for a bit, and then I'll be back," Mycroft says.

Greg stands and then helps Mycroft up. "It's at the end of the hallway." Then he pulls Mycroft toward his chest in that way that makes his partner feel comfortable even though they don’t actually hug. "I love you, and I want you to know that you don't ever have to do anything for me that you don't want to do."

"Maybe you don't want me to go back to your parents because it would be more embarrassing-" Mycroft begins.

"Nope! Nope, none of that. That wasn't what I was getting at. I just don't want you to push yourself for my sake." Greg pauses, and adds, "But I do appreciate you asking for reassurance like we planned."

"I'm just foolish, and weak, and I don't really want to talk about it anymore," he says, continuing to get comfort from his partner's chest.

"Don't you dare speak about someone that I love like that," Greg whispers, rubbing his partner's back.

Mycroft pulls away smiling, and heads to the promised washroom. When he arrives back in the living room a few minutes later the conversation suddenly stops.

"I'm sorry if I was abrupt earlier. I was rude, and there is no excuse for that," Mr. Lestrade says.

"He's a right cod is what he is," Mrs. Lestrade scolds her husband. Mycroft smiles weakly and sinks down onto the spot that Greg has saved for him on the couch. "Really, it is all right. I am sorry for my behavior. Social skills have always been a weakness of mine. I’ve been working on it for many years, but it hasn't been going very well. I will have to try harder in the future."

"The only problem with your behavior is how hard you are on yourself, for goodness sake!" Greg exclaims, wrapping his arm around his partner and giving him strength through a hug.

"Albert, please go get the boy some fresh tea. After all, it's your fault it’s gone cold." Mrs. Lestrade instruction to her husband has a bit of bite to it.

Mycroft badly wants to hide his face in his partner's chest like he does if he gets overwhelmed on a night that Greg stays over, but he knows it wouldn't be the right thing to do in this situation. Greg rubs his back. It's quite similar to the way he sooths Mycroft in bed, and Mycroft finds that it has enough comfort for him.

Greg and his mother keep the conversation going between them, and it’s light enough that Mycroft doesn't find it too hard to contribute now and again. He drinks his tea when Mr. Lestrade brings it to him, and then they all move into the kitchen to eat a pot roast. Mycroft usually hates the part of the family dinner where he must praise the quality of the food. His mother had been as poor a cook as he was a liar. But he does not have to lie about the quality of Mrs. Lestrade’s pot roast.

"You act like you've never had a home cooked meal before," Mrs. Lestrade chuckles as the praise pours forth from Mycroft's mouth.

"We haven't really. Mummy and Daddy's idea of cooking was more along the lines of heating up a can or boiling some pasta. Mycroft's gotten very into the idea of cooking ever since I came to live with him, but he's never made anything that tasted this good!" Sherlock exclaims.

Mycroft feels his chest go tight at the sudden realization that his family was less than it should have been. He should have realized it back when he was a child, and he should have done something to give his brother and sister the normal life that the Lestrades had.

Mrs. Lestrade puts her hand on Mycroft’s. "I've got a lot of respect for people who raise their families better than they were raised themselves."

"I've been quite grateful to your son during the whole process. He has a good grasp of the basics of cooking. He’s the only reason why I know things as basic as how to peel an onion."

Mrs. Lestrade pats her son's hand, which is laying on her other side. "See. I told you all those cooking lessons were going to pay off when you were younger. They helped you get a man for yourself! And I'm glad you're helping him feed up the little boy-he's as thin as a skeleton." She stands up in order to hustle off to get the dessert.

***

Mycroft finds Greg's parents very kind, but he is still relieved when he finally hears the sound of Greg locking the door of his childhood bedroom, and crawling into bed next to Mycroft.

"I feel so humiliated that I broke down like that in front of your family. I don't have any excuses, and I really don't see why you don't break up with me," Mycroft says, bringing his hands up to cover his face.

Greg grabs him by the wrists, and ever so gently moves his hands down. "Nothing could have been farther from my mind. Honestly, what happened is not a big deal. I wish you wouldn't be embarrassed about it; I’m certainly not. Never, ever, no matter what, am I going to break up with you over something like that-over social skills, over getting overwhelmed by small talk. Okay? And honest to God, my dad was the problem there. He didn't need to do his scary 'don't hurt my son' act."

"I've had problems with social things my whole life, so I know it's me. You don't have to lie to me," Mycroft tells him.

"God, I wish I could punch whoever did this to you," Greg says, hopping onto the bed, and snuggling against Mycroft and pulling him toward his chest.

The dam breaks, and Mycroft sobs in his arms for a long time. "I don't understand how you make it all seem so easy. Being with you is so...it's just a relief honestly."

"I don't think it's just me, actually. I think you’re fine with whoever you know well. I just want to ask...why do you want to be a politician? I really can't imagine you being happy doing it. I think you could pick something that wouldn't force you to push yourself so hard. Wouldn’t a different career make you happier?”

"I can't describe it. I want it more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Okay," Greg says, rolling on his side to take some pressure off Mycroft, but still keeping him cuddled into his safe position. "But I've never even heard you talk about politics. I don’t even know what political party has your affiliation.”

"I think more often than not political parties get in the way of the real thing. It's all for show. I don't care about the fame of politics. I'll avoid that if I can. I don't want to stand up, and make speeches, and collect votes. I want to sit in a back office and shape the world." He kisses Greg's neck. "I'd like a legal marriage one day. I'd like it if everyone had access to a good education, and a job that they can live on. The rest of it...it's fluff as far as I can see."

"You want to be the man behind the curtain," Greg says.

"I know it's aiming too high. I know that I don’t have the skills that I need to do this, but if you knew how far I’ve come by way of social skills you might believe that I can do this."

"Oh," Greg says, kissing his cheek. "I think you are spectacular, and amazing, and are going to do exactly what you want. The way you convince people, read them, you'll crush it. When there is business to work on, you're fabulous. It's only the meaningless small talk that’s hard for you, and there won't be much of that in what you're doing. I think you'll be brilliant, and my own concern was really that you were going to be making yourself miserable when you didn't have to."

Mycroft sighs. "I've tried so hard not to live in fear. I never wanted that to hold me back."

"Mycroft, can I ask you how often you have panic attacks?"

Mycroft scoffs. "I think tantrum would be a better name for what happens to me."

"I'm not a doctor, but I really think that's what happens." Mycroft gives him a glare. "I'm sorry. My idea’s not to offend you, and of course I am not an expert in this, but I do know that they are not tantrums. I also think they are something unpleasant that happens to you and not something you’re doing to other people. After you had those...stressed times..." Greg carefully frames. "Did your parents ever comfort you after? Hold you like I do?"

"Sherlock did. God, even Red Beard does it when he sees me in one, but I don't think it ever occurred to them. Or maybe it did, and Mummy thought it would only make me worse. I....like the fact that I can just get comfort from you every single time that I want."

"Anytime," Greg says. "I wish I could go back in time, and comfort the you that was there long ago," he says, massaging circles on his back. "I love you Mycroft Holmes, and I am going to continue to love you when you are dazzling me with your wit, and when you are overwhelmed and need a break from socializing, and I will literally love you no matter what you do."

Mycroft presses some kisses against Greg's bare chest. Greg's chest hairs tickle his lips. "Gregory, I am always grateful for the fact that you continue with your error in judgment of loving me. I love you too. God, I love you so much that it scares me to death. What I will do if this falls apart? I love you so much there is a pounding in my chest."

"Loving you is not an error in judgment love, love. It‘s the best decision I’ve ever made, and I really wish that you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Mycroft rolls over Greg, and then he lets his weight rest against Greg, their most sensitive bits meeting for the first time ever. Mycroft stares at Greg with an open mouth and startled eyes.

"Oh, God," Greg quietly hisses, putting his hands on his lover's hips, but not making any motion beyond that.

"I think at this point I'm supposed to ask for consent," Mycroft says.

"You've got it," Greg whispers back.

"I think I'm supposed to tell you what I'm going to do before you give that to me," Mycroft says. "I want to...move until we both achieve orgasm."

Greg whimpers, and then it takes a while before he gets himself together enough in order to say, "Yes, please, yes. I've fantasied about this...doing something here...in my childhood bed, and it being our first time together..."

"I know," Mycroft's eyes sparkle.

"What?" Greg says.

Mycroft shrugs. "You said yourself that I was good at reading people. I was ready for this a few days ago, but I saved it, for here." Mycroft begins to move, and just the one single motion seems to overwhelm him for a little bit. He hovers over Greg gasping.

Greg reaches up to touch his face. "We can stop if you want to. Any time."

"I don't want to stop, it's just...intense. It's just a whole lot more intense then when I’ve done...solo activities."

He moves again, a bit longer now before he pauses again.

"It's more intense than anything I've done either," Greg says. "I think that has something to do with the strength of the feelings that I have for you."

Mycroft falls down on Greg's chest now, and the speed at which he rubs increases very quickly. It only takes a few minutes before he shoves his mouth down on the part where Greg's chest meets his neck so that he can muffle the sound of his orgasm.

Mycroft rolls to the side, and Greg knows enough not to touch him for a while. Then Mycroft reaches for him. "Finish please," he pleads.

Greg moves over him and begins rubbing with almost abandon. He does continue to look at his partner's face to make sure he's not pushing his partner into over sensitivity. He comes, hiding the sound in Mycroft's mouth. He quickly rolls as far away on the small bed as he can manage.

"No! Please don't leave me," Mycroft whines, gripping at him, and pulling him close.

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd need a bit of space. I'm not leaving you. I would never leave you," Greg says, kissing the top of his boyfriend’s head.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to have to hold me forever now," Mycroft mutters, snuggling close to him.

After a few minutes pass Greg says, "I've got to get something to clean us up."

"No," Mycroft says wrapping his limbs around him. “It hasn’t been forever yet!”

"Next time we do this I'll plan ahead so I won't have to get out of bed, but this is really not negotiable," Greg says, struggling free.

Mycroft grunts a wordless protest but releases him. Greg rushes out of the room (the sooner to hurry back) and returns a few minutes later with a wet flannel. Mycroft becomes alarmed when Greg reaches out to actually clean him. He grabs the flannel from him, and says, "Please turn away!"

Greg makes a little grumble about how they just had sex, but he obeys. Mycroft takes his hand after a bit, and puts the flannel in it. "My eyes are closed," he assures him.

Greg takes care of himself, and then he crawls back into bed, laying himself over Mycroft, giving him the pressure that he knows his partner benefits from.

Mycroft touches his face. "Thank you."

"Thank you. It was amazing."

"You put up with me...not being willing to be touched by you, even after what we’d just done."

"I liked what just happened. There was nothing wrong with it. There was nothing missing," Greg assures him. "Okay, this relationship is working for me, and you have to stop comparing it to some imaginary relationship. This relationship that we have, it's good, Mycroft. It’s good."

Mycroft clutches him even closer, and the two of them drift to sleep.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit with Eurus.

"Eurus! I love that piece of art!" Greg says, pleased and excited to see something with color and no obvious signs of death.

"It's a caricature about how what people think of as life is only a mockery of the thing in truth," she replies in a monotone voice.

"Well, all right then. It's still very lovely," Greg says.

She moves over to examine his face, and he's gotten used enough to her that he doesn't flinch when she does it. "Are you going to marry him?"

"Awful early for that, but we are talking about the idea of me moving in,” Greg says.

"I really did not think that Mycroft Holmes would have a long-term partner at the age of twenty," she snorts.

"They asked me if I was okay with that," Sherlock says "How do you feel?"

"Why would I care who Mycroft lives with?" Eurus says in annoyance.

"I'm your guardian now," Mycroft says. "If you get free you will be living with me."

Eurus blinks. "I'm not getting out of here."

"Well, no, not anytime soon, but someday I think you will," Mycroft says.

"They can't let me out," she says in a gloomy voice. "I can't stop myself."

"Learning how to stop yourself is growing up, Eurus, and we'll help you do this. The people here will help you do that too," Mycroft promises.

"Besides, Mycroft has taken to making boundaries and punishments ever since he took that parenting class," Sherlock says, glaring at his brother in annoyance.

"Wait, did your parents never punish any of you?" Greg asks in shock.

"Not that I can remember," Mycroft says "Biting comments yes, logical consequences no."

"What sort of punishments would you give me for killing our parents?" Eurus asks in a tone which is half sarcastic, and half serious.

Mycroft moves his hands around to indicate the room they are in.

Eurus stares at him seriously. "Okay, what would the punishment be for waking Sherlock up with a feather to his face and whip cream on his hand."

Sherlock glares at her because that doesn't even make the list of the worst ways that she's woken him up.

"I would not let the two of you be in a room together without me," Mycroft says seriously.

"I want to know what you would do," Eurus says, this time sounding much more earnest and desperate.

"I guess the logical punishment for that would be for you to do something nice for Sherlock."

Eurus walks in front of Sherlock. "What would be nice?"

"You can't just pick one little thing that you did," Sherlock says.

"I don't know how to do it all. I don't even know how to fix a small one," she says, holding out her hand.

Sherlock's lip quivers. "I would like to pie you in the face."

"I don't think that's the sort of punishment I would allow. It actually feels a lot more like revenge than a punishment, Sherlock. Think of something that you'd want from your sister," he prompts.

"You should say something nice to me," Sherlock demands, looking her straight in the eyes.

She blinks. "You are kind," she says. "Kinder than anyone."

And then they continue. She makes amends, before it is all done, for a dozen morning wake ups, and she promises to think of something bigger for their next visit. Something to make up for one of the times when she had twisted his hand beneath his arm, and whispered things into his ear which had terrified him.

Afterwards, after all that talking about the past, Sherlock leans against Mycroft while they watch TV. Mycroft slowly runs his hand through his brother’s curls, brushing them off of his forehead, and Greg pulls Sherlock’s feet up onto his lap, and Sherlock knows that, as difficult as all of this is, it isn't something that he has to do by himself.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chat with Eurus.

"Eurus, what happened to your arm?" Mycroft asks in alarm, looking at his sister's bandage.

"They don't like it when I cut myself. They tried to stop me, but I am very clever, so the best they could do was wrap me up afterwards," she says with a wide grin.

Acting as if suicide attempts were a joke was not something that had been covered in Mycroft's parenting class. Even if upon closer inspection it looks more like a self-harm attempt than suicide.

"Well, I don't like the idea of you cutting yourself either," Mycroft points out. “I hate it whenever you hurt someone that I care about, even when that person is you.”

Eurus laughs, and then she stops in shock when no one joins into her laughter. She blinks at him. "You care about me?"

"How could you possibly sound surprised?" Mycroft asks.

"I was trying to punish myself," she says holding out the hand. "And if I made enough punishments then I could come home with you."

"No, no," Mycroft says carefully holding the injured hand. "No, it's not mostly about punishment, this family thing. We missed that when we were kids, but that's not all that we missed. Most of parenting should be about unconditional love. That's what I want you to get from me. That's what I want you to give yourself."

"But if she wants to be punished, I think we should keep doing that," Greg says. "Much better that we do it than her. If you hurt yourself again," he says looking at Eurus. "The guards will take away your books at eight o'clock at night, and you won't be able to read yourself to bed."

"Yes, good," Eurus says, her eyes shining even though they are talking about disciplining her. "And what about all the things that I did before? What are my punishments for those going to be?"

"Nope, your brother is not going to punish you for that. That was all your parents’ job, and we are only going to punish you for the things that happened after Mycroft got custody."

Mycroft looks over at him, impressed and grateful.

"But if you refuse to punish me for all of that then there is no way that I can make things better," she says with panic in her face.

"Of course you can make it better," Sherlock says. "You just have to stop hurting people, and that includes yourself. That's all I want from you. If you can stop hurting people than I'll be able to forgive you." Mycroft stares at his brother. It’s the second time he’s been impressed in as many minutes. "It will take time," Sherlock amends. "Maybe a long time. But I am certain that I can do it."

"No!" Eurus screams. "You can't make it that easy!" She flops down on the soft and colorful comforter that now covers her bed.

"Easy?" Mycroft says. "If you think that being kind is easy than you don't understand what kindness is! Learning how to be kind is the hardest thing that you will ever do."

Eurus lets lose, crying on the bed, but it's not the soft kind that we call weeping. It's the sort of crying that an ancient people used to do beside the funeral pyre, loud and harsh and shrill.

Mycroft slowly moves over and sits next to her on the side of the bed. He puts a hand on her back, and slowly rubs.

"You're not leaving?" she gasps once she has run out of the energy to cry.

"Of course, we are not," Mycroft says. "You earned this time with us with your good behavior, and having an emotion is not going to chase us away."

"But I hate emotions," Eurus says somewhat desperately.

"I do to," Mycroft admits. "They can be downright scary. Sometimes I feel like they are big enough to swallow me up, and like they are going to last forever, but the truth is, that's not how it works. Emotions are always temporary, and every one of them is survivable. When you start to allow yourself to feel those emotions they become much easier to deal with."

"Depending, of course, on what you do with that emotion," Greg adds. "Don't be using those emotions as an excuse to hurt yourself or others. Feeling an emotion and acting on it are very different things."

Eurus sniffs, and sits up. She looks at Mycroft. "You're fat and stupid."

His smile doesn't falter. "I never should have left you the first time you said things like that to me either. You were a little girl asking for what you needed, and I should have figured it out instead of running away wounded."

"But I was trying to wound you," she retorts.

"Yes, and you succeeded, and I still should have been better than that," Mycroft replies.

Greg pulls Mycroft toward him. "You were a hurt little boy who didn't know what unconditional love was yet. You did the best you could."

"I did," Mycroft agrees.

"Eurus," Sherlock says. "There is a question which I have been afraid to ask for a while, but I know that I won't really be able to forgive you, not totally, until I know the answer to it. Why did you do it? Why did you kill them?"

"They weren't people," she says in a tone of voice which implies that her brothers are really quite dense for not understanding. "They weren't real or awake or alive. Why did you take my dolls apart when you were younger? You wanted to find out how they worked."

"But our parents were people, Eurus," Mycroft scolds.

"No..." Eurus looks at him in surprise. "Have you ever looked at one of those circus chimps with the clothes, holding a little teacup walking on its hind legs? And it sends a shiver right down your spine? The problem is that they are almost human, but they are not quite. That is the part that makes it so hard, so eerie. You are all so far beneath me that when I look at you it's like I am looking at circus chimps. You think you are people, but you’re not. Not if I’m a person anyway. If you are all people, then I am something else. Some nameless thing that is as high above you as you are above chimps."

"Intelligence is not the only thing that matters, sister mine," Mycroft tells her. Eurus startles, and Mycroft realizes with pain, that it's been a very long time since he has called her that pet name. "It's true that our parents were not as intelligent as you are. Almost everyone in the world is less intelligent than you are, but we are here for you, and we love you. Those things are never going to change, even if we do not always understand you."


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pillow Talk.

One of Greg's favorite versions of Mycroft is the one who shows up when he is more than halfway asleep. He is soft and inhibited enough that he's not editing every single thing that comes out of his mouth.

"I want to have a baby with you," Mycroft says, clinging to him.

"Mmmm, maybe someday," Greg mutters.

"Someday?" Mycroft says, pulling away. Drowsy happy Mycroft has been replaced with an annoyed fierce one that makes Greg groan. "I thought we both agreed that we were going to have children early in our relationship,” Mycroft says.

Greg sits up. "You’re awake and serious right now. I’m not. You’re going to have to give me a moment to catch up with you," Greg says with a startled look on his face.

"When you gather yourself I think you should tell me how long until you want to be a father," Mycroft says sternly.

"I sort of thought I was, Mycroft," Greg says. “I thought that was part of the deal with me moving in here.”

Mycroft smiles. "Yes, you parent Sherlock, but is that...all you want?"

"No, not at all, but it's all I want right now," Greg says. Mycroft makes an annoyed face. "No. No, sweetie, it's just we're still adjusting. I just moved in, and Sherlock has only begun to deal with his trauma, and...I mean I feel like we've really just started with Eurus. I'm not saying no, but I am saying a big not yet."

"Your delay is not out of worry that we're not going to last?" Mycroft says.

"No," Greg says, letting out a breath and sitting up to lean against the headboard. "It's fast. After only five months together I should not be this sure we are going to last, but I am.”

"Okay. Good," Mycroft says, reaching out to grab his hand. "I...don't want our kids to be too far in age from Sherlock. We're parenting Sherlock for the next six years. If we wait until then to have a baby that's going to be eighteen more years. Plus more for all the time that we wait in between children. I really want to do this parenting thing, but I don't want it to be my whole life. I know that it will impact my career, and I want to reach the point where we don’t have a child at home before I am of retirement age."

"I understand that," Greg says. "I ah...wasn't actually thinking we'd go with babies."

"Oh,” Mycroft says, looking intensely disappointed.

Greg puts his hand on Mycroft's arm and gives him an apologetic smile. "I don't really like babies. They can't tell you what they want, and that shrill scream is just terrible. It's a nightmare to me. Once they hit a year or two I’m good. I love a toddler tantrum, and I can deal with teenagers, and the time between...seriously? Amazing."

"You do realize that they do not stay babies for that long," Mycroft says.

"I get that," Greg says. "And honestly, if this is really important to you, I’ll do it for you. But honestly? I’ve always sort of dreamed of adopting children a bit on the older side. When my parents fostered they always took the sort of kids that most other people didn't want...kids close to Sherlock's age, you know?"

"Perhaps a bit younger?”

"Yeah, anything over five would be fine with me," Greg says. He lets out a breath. "Well, we got a lot decided," he says, rolling over to go back to bed.

"We actually didn't get the most important thing decided," Mycroft points out. "How long until we started having children?"

Greg turns back to him. "Can you trust me if I said soon and didn't get specific?"

Mycroft is silent for a while, and then he lets out a long sigh, and says, "I'm sorry, no. I did try. I can live with it if you tell me it's going to be less than two years."

"Yes," Greg says. “Maybe it will only be a few months, but I don’t want to upheave your brother’s life anymore right now. We’ve got to give him a bit of time.

"Okay," Mycroft agrees. "If it helps your decision making I actually took an few extra classes this semester and dropped my two minors. That is to say, I've only got one more semester after this one before I graduate."

"You shouldn't abbreviate your education-" Greg begins.

"It's just honestly not as important to me as it was when I decided to do all of the differentiating degrees. Right now, I'm really excited about beginning my life after school," he says.

"Okay then. I'll trust you on that," Greg says.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg asks a question.

Mycroft and Greg walk arm and arm around the park. They try to go on a date every other week, although it's a bit hard to find the time. They get away from the house but avoid traditional dating scenes that would make Mycroft nervous. They approach a fountain with benches around it. The nearby trees have twinkle lights hanging from them.

"Oh, this is so beautiful," Mycroft gasps. "Who would have put all this work into a public park? It's lovely though!" He turns to see Greg's reaction, only to see that Greg is on his knee. Mycroft jumps away from him, and he stumbles over to the nearest bench where he sits down.

"Okay, surprise was a bad plan. What was I thinking?" Greg says, following him, but giving him plenty of space. "I'm really sorry, Mycroft."

Mycroft sits down on the bench and puts his head between his knees, breathing slowly for a long time. He sits up when he's calmed down, but he doesn't go into Greg's chest like he normally does.

"I'm sorry," Greg mutters. "I was an idiot the way I did it. How do you want to continue? Are we done for tonight or-"

"No," Mycroft says.

"Okay. I do have a speech prepared, so if you can tell me when you want me to propos-."

"No," Mycroft says again, his breath coming in panicked breaths. "I'm saying no."

"Oh," Greg says a look of horror crossing his face. "Right." He stands up and starts walking at a quick pace away from Mycroft.

Mycroft stands to follow. "Wait!"

"I need a minute," Greg says. "I give you a minute all the time. Can you give me the same courtesy?"

"I think I can make it hurt less if I just tell you why, " Mycroft says.

Greg turns to him, looking wounded, and Mycroft feels like he's been gutted. "I told you that I wanted to marry you legally. That's all. I just want to wait for that."

Greg turns from him again. "Yeah, I'll take my minute now."

Mycroft doesn't follow as Greg walks to the edge of the trees. He pulls the plug, causing the lights to go out, and stares at the trees for a moment. "Let's go home."

"I'm sorry, Gregory, I...." Mycroft is blown away by the sudden realization that Greg had been the one to decorate the park and make it look so fantastic with the lights reflecting off the fountain’s water. For him.

"Stop," Greg says firmly. "We are not doing this tonight. Okay? I'm too raw right now."

"Okay," Mycroft says. "I am really sorry though."

"I know, "Greg says. Mycroft still looks so worried. that Greg sighs and says, "I'm angry, and I'm hurt, but I'm still going back home with you. Okay?"

"Okay," Mycroft says walking next to him in silence. After a block Greg reaches out and touches his hand.


	36. Chapter 36

The next morning Mycroft wakes up to see Greg staring at him as they lie in bed together. He jumps in surprise, and then sits up to lean against the headboard. "You're ready to talk?"

"That okay?" Greg asks.

Mycroft nods. "I love you, and I want to spend my life with you. I just don't want to get married until it's legal."

"That’s probably decades away," Greg points out.

"Maybe. I hope that it can be sooner."

"I don't want to raise children with someone who is not willing to commit to me."

"We are already raising a child, and I am willing to commit," Mycroft says in surprise. "I just don't want to have a ceremony."

"It matters to me," Greg says. "I want you to stand in front of our family and promise me that we’re going to stay together forever. I need that. I need that to move forward. I'm sorry. It feels petty, but it also feels like it’s really important to me, and if I said it wasn't, I would be lying."

"I understand, and it’s not petty," Mycroft says. "Saying vows when we’re not granted the right to marry is a no go for me. But I am willing to have some sort of a ceremony or party with you as long as it doesn't really look much like a wedding ceremony. I am okay with standing up in front of a bunch of people and telling them how wild I am about you," he says, touching Greg’s hand. "I just really don't want to use the traditional vows, and I would feel better if we didn't call it a wedding."

"Commitment ceremony?" Greg asks.

Mycroft nods. "Yes. There is one more thing that we need to talk about. You've got to ask Sherlock."

"Oh, I know," Greg says. "I've got a breakfast planned. I also would like to propose to you properly. Not now," he says when Mycroft sits up even straighter. "And it won't be showy like the last time. But I need you to promise me that you're going to say yes before I do my speech.”

"Yes," Mycroft says.

"And do you want to wear the engagement ring?”

Mycroft nods, holding out his arms. Greg lays down next to him and puts pressure on his body.

"Sex?" Mycroft asks, nuzzling him.

Greg sighs, "No."

"Oh," Mycroft says, wiggling out of his grasp. "Are you still mad at me?"

"No, honey. I just...am not in the mood, okay? My mind is much more on breakfast than on this." Mycroft looks disturbed. "I'm sorry, babe, but you’re going to have to get used to the fact that we are not always going to be 'on' at the same time. That's part of life. That's part of adulthood."

"I just worry that you haven't really forgiven me yet," Mycroft says.

"Thank you for sharing that worry," Greg says, kissing his forehead before pulling away. " I won't say that I've completely forgiven you, but I have mostly forgiven you, and I will forgive you completely pretty soon. Now, I am going to go make breakfast. You can just have a bit of a lie in."

"No, I'm getting up," Mycroft says following after him.

Sherlock marches into the kitchen twenty minutes later mumbling, "I'm beginning to hate the smell of bacon, since it always comes out when there is about to be a serious question. You’ve already got guardianship of Eurus and moved in, what is it this time? You're going to be giving me some kind of a complex." preamble

"How would you feel about me marrying your brother?" Greg asks.

"I think it's about time," Sherlock says grabbing bacon out of the pan with his fingers and blowing on it.

"Okay, yeah, tThat was pretty easy," Greg says.

"I thought it was clear that it wasn't a wedding," Mycroft says in a cold tone.

"We aren't telling people that we’re married?" Greg says. "I'm never going to be allowed to say that you are my husband?"

Sherlock looks at them alarmed with his mouth open, and a bite of bacon hanging out of it.

Greg smiles at Sherlock. "Sorry, we shouldn't be arguing in front of you. You really are going to developed a sort of phobia about bacon.”

"So...you're not getting married?"

"Your brother wants to wait for legal marriage before we do anything official. I find it important to have a commitment before we move forward with children."

"Children?" Sherlock says, his eyes growing even larger.

"Oh, right, to be fair we were going to ask you before that happened, and I meant to have them be two separate conversations. I'm sorry," Greg says.

"How many children are you going to have?" Sherlock says, looking alarmed.

"You've still got veto power here, Sherlock. This is your family too-" Mycroft begins.

"You've already come to a conclusion and I want to know what it is," Sherlock says after having looked at his brother very seriously.

"We actually didn’t talk about that. We talked mostly about age. But it was plural. Two more? Plus Sherlock and Euros?” Greg asks.

Mycroft nods his head.

"Four. That's a lot," Sherlock says looking alarmed.

"Look-" Mycroft begins.

"No, I'm not saying no. I don't want to say no. I just...want to know that..." Sherlock stumbles over the next words.

"You want to know that you're still going to be a priority. That we're not going to love you less," Greg says with a smile. "You will always be an important part of our family," Greg says, putting his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. "If you tell us right now that you don't want the family to expand, that's going to be fine. We want to have children now, but we will wait until you've left the house if you prefer that. One of the reasons we wanted to do it sooner rather than later is we wanted it to feel like we were all one family. We want to have our kids close to your age."

"That's...sweet actually," Sherlock says. "I...don't want it to be a girl though. That makes me nervous. I know that's irrational, and that a girl wouldn't necessarily be like Euros, but..."

"I think that is a reasonable request.”

"I mean...I think you should do it soon.”

“Of course, Sherlock. We thought we would wait a few months. Give the two of you two time to adjust to me being added to the family before we add anyone else.”

“I’m adjusted, I am,” Sherlock says. “You guys are really good fathers, and I don't see a reason to wait longer.”

"And brother dear?" Mycroft says, standing in front of him. "Just so we are clear, this talk of you leaving the house? As far as I’m concerned it can happen when you are ninety.”

Mycroft pulls away from the hug, and pours coffee for Greg. “Will ‘partner’ work? I don’t particularly like the term husband.”

“I can live with that,” Greg says, taking the cup from him.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is introduced.

Sherlock wishes that Greg and Mycroft didn't take him with to the group home. The idea of picking out a family member feels very odd to him. Greg and Mycroft are playing kickball with a group of younger kids, and Sherlock just doesn't have the energy to bond with anyone before they made their decision. The deductions are noisy. He doesn’t want to be aware of whatever trauma the children have been through, apart from the one kid who is going to matter.

He moves to the edge of the play field, and only then notices a boy who is hiding behind a few large rocks. He walks closer, and as soon as he is within arm’s length of the other boy he grabs Sherlock and pulls him into his hiding spot. He's really close to the boy, and it makes his stomach feel funny.

"Shh! You’re going to give away my position!" the kid exclaims.

Sherlock whispers, "Why exactly are you hiding in the first place?"

"Because," The boy says with a sigh. "I’ve been through all of this shit before. The foster parents walking around looking at kids right now are the kind who want to be taking you for keeps. I know that’s not going to happen because my dad is good enough at sobering up that he always gets me back. So I don't want to go play pretend family for a couple of months before my real family scoops me up. I'm John Watson by the way, and who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock says, reaching out to shake his hand.

"You look really posh to be in the system. What could your folks have done to lose custody?" John asks.

"Well, they died," Sherlock says, because some strange part of him wants to see the horrified and apologetic look on the boy’s face. "But I'm actually not in the system. My brother and his fiancé are the ones that picking out a kid today."

"Oh shit," John says, staring at that couple in horror. "I didn't mean to insult your family."

"It's fine," Sherlock says, dismissively waving with his hand. "You're right about them attempting to foster someone into adoption. But you are out of the age range they are looking for, so rest assured that you are quite safe."

"Wait, those two men are from the same family? They’re adopting together?" John says in surprise.

Sherlock nods, and his stomach clenches, hoping that some homophobic thing is not about to pop out of John's mouth.

"Wow, I had no idea that two men could have kids like that. That's amazing!"

Sherlock grins.

"So, why are aren't you picking out your sibling with them?"

"It got dull. Besides, it's going to be my nephew not my sibling," Sherlock says.

"Okay, I just assumed that it would be more like siblings...I mean since your brother has custody of you. How old is he?"

"He just turned twenty-one," Sherlock replies.

"Well, Harry is only two years older than me, but I doubt she'd take me under her wing when she finally gets out on her own. Besides, her drinking is getting almost as bad as Dad's so I don't think it would be much of a trade up by the time she's an adult."

"I'm sorry about your family," Sherlock says. His eyes lift to the bruise on John's cheek, but he quickly glances away knowing that John wouldn’t want that particular deduction talked about.

"I'm sorry about your parents," John says seriously. "How did they die?"

"Murdered. I was the one who found them," he says quite seriously. He's started to talk about it with his therapist, but this is the first time that he's actually said it out loud outside of therapy since the day it happened. It's terrible, but it's also a weight off of his shoulders.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," John says sadly.

"Thank you," Sherlock whispers.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft calls out with just a touch of panic in his voice. Sherlock feels bad for having broken his promise of having his brother always know where he was. Sherlock stands up from the close confides behind the rock.

"What were you doing over there?" Mycroft says, running toward his brother. He isn't going to tell on John even though it makes him look really weird, but he hears John's bashful voice behind him, "He was making conversation."

"Behind a rock?" Mycroft asks with concern.

"I was hiding," John puts in.

"But I assured him that he was safe from being adopted by you," Sherlock adds.

"Well, the age band can be adjusted if that's what we need to do," Mycroft says, even though he had originally been calling Sherlock over to introduce him to the child they’d decided on.

"No!" Sherlock turns to John, who answers a second before Sherlock says the word himself. They look at each other, and giggle. John is the one who explains. "No, I'm waiting to be returned to my actual family. Generally, my stays here aren’t too long. I know you're looking for something more permanent, and I wouldn't want to be a disappointment."

Mycroft looks at his brother and deduces that Sherlock's reason isn't the same one that John has just stated, and that it would be best not to bring up the real reason. "All right, but you should come over to our house whenever you want. If you're not going to be family, perhaps we can settle for friends. Sherlock, why don't you trade information with John and say your goodbyes. Then you can come over.”

"All right," Sherlock says, relieved when his brother moves to give him a bit of space.

"You don't have to invite me over just because your brother told you to," John says. "I don't need pity for the foster kid."

"How about if I invite you over because you interest me, and usually people bore me to death?" Sherlock asks, taking a pen out of the pocket of his coat and scratching his phone number onto John's hand. Then he hands the pen to John and extends his own hand. "You can give me your home number, even if you won't be there right away."

John obeys, and soon Sherlock is resisting the urge to skip across the field.

"Oh," the prospective foster boy says when he spots Sherlock coming close to him. "You didn't tell me that Sherlock was all grown-up too!"

"Not quite," Sherlock says, but he can't help but grin at the comment.

"You’re tall," Oliver says, pushing up his thick glasses, and looking up at the older boy with admiration. Oliver himself looks a bit less than his six years.

"I'm within the average range for my age," Sherlock retorts, wishing that he was still talking to John and feeling guilty about this wish.

"Mycroft said you actually had a microscope, like, right there in your bedroom," Oliver says in awe.

"I do," Sherlock agrees. "You can use it sometime if you come to stay with us."

Oliver's eyes almost bulge out of his head, and Sherlock decides that this uncle thing might be more fun than he thought.

"Oliver is interested in science," Mycroft says.

"And history, and Mycroft is going to college for history," Oliver says with enthusiasm.

Greg asks him about his favorite time period, and Sherlock really honestly tries to listen to the kid talk about knights in armor, but his eyes flit to the corner of the play field where John is dribbling a soccer ball. Greg is looking at Sherlock with a question on his face, and Sherlock blushes rather against his will. Greg glances at Mycroft, and then they both glance at Sherlock.

Sherlock shakes his head, and Oliver catches the motion. "What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing. Please go on with your story," Sherlock says.

"I don't like it when people act like I can't understand just because I'm a little kid," Oliver says, stomping his foot.

Sherlock can relate to that and so with a sigh he says, "I was a bit distracted by John."

Oliver's face falls as he kicks the ground. "I understand."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Sherlock exclaims. "Not like that at all! I don't want John to be a brother. No! I would much rather have you in our family. I just want...to be friends with John."

"Oh, romantic interest," Greg says, suddenly nodding his head with the relief of someone who has just made sense of something.

Oliver looks confused. "Does everyone in your family like boys? I....don't."

"It's certainly not a requirement," Mycroft laughs, and then he grows serious. "Does it bother you though? That Greg and I are a couple instead of you going into a family that has a man and a woman? Because if it does make you feel weird you could stay here until a more normal family came for you. There would be no feelings hurt."

"No!" Oliver says. "You're nice, and that's what matters. If you guys want me that is more than enough.”

"Anyone who doesn’t want you is a fool," Greg says firmly.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedtime Stories

Mycroft is giving Oliver his first bedtime story, and Sherlock finds himself frozen in the doorway staring at it.

"Go sit with them," Greg invites.

"I'm too old for bedtimes stories," Sherlock says, continuing to stand in the hallway.

"Well that's funny, because I'm not," Greg says, walking past him to go and perch on the edge of the desk. Sherlock shoots a grateful grin at him, and then follows him into the room. Mycroft looks up to give his brother a smile and decides to read another fairy tale instead of stopping. Tomorrow they might start The Hobbit because he and his brother never got to finish that.

When he closes the fairy tale book Mycroft quickly goes into the bedroom he shares with Greg and shuts the door. He slides onto the small bit of floor between the wall and the bed, and slowly breathes.

He hears the door open, and a few seconds later looks up to see his lover laying on the bed over him. "You okay?"

"Yes, it was...all so normal and domestic," Mycroft says slowly.

"Yeah, that's the kind of thing that happens when you have a family," Greg says.

"Thank you for convincing Sherlock to come in. I never got to have that with him, and it's nice to have it now. I wish I'd been reading to him since he came to live with me."

"You're doing it now," Greg says. "I hate the idea of you not being read to when you were small."

Mycroft climbs onto the bed and hugs him. "I'm glad we're doing this together. Fostering was the right call. I find myself...frequently overwhelmed with joy."

Mycroft gives Greg another squeeze, and then says, "Good. I'm going to go tuck Sherlock in."

"I love you," Greg says as he gives his lover a little push out of bed.

"I love you too,” Mycroft says, grinning at him.

Sherlock looks surprised when his brother walks in the door so Mycroft asks, "I'm sorry, were you not ready for me yet?"

"I didn't realize...we were still doing tuck ins," Sherlock says.

"Oh," Mycroft gasps in alarm. "I...we can stop if you want. I know that you're growing up, and..."

"I don't want to stop," Sherlock says.

"Thank God," Mycroft says. "I...I am not very good at telling people how I feel. But I hope you are aware that the time I spend with you....it is valuable to me...it brings me joy."

Sherlock sits up, but he remains silent for so long that Mycroft figures he's not going to return any of the gushing embarrassing emotions. Then Sherlock says, "I...am way more grateful than I seem about all the things you do for me. It's...I'm not used to it: the affection, someone caring where I am all the time."

Mycroft smiles. "Let me know if there are other things that would make you feel loved and cared for," he says, enveloping his brother in a hug. “Are you...still okay with all the changes our family's going through? Working towards adoption, the commitment ceremony coming up? I just…want to check-in with you, I guess."

"I'm good," Sherlock says, offering him a smile.

"Okay, so it looks like you are not quite ready for bed. I can come back in a few minutes," Mycroft says.

"Yes," Sherlock says. "And I think you should be aware that Oliver’s toothbrush has never been wet."

"Fantastic," Mycroft says with sarcasm. He peeks in on Oliver, but since the boy is asleep Mycroft decides to begin the fight with the toothbrush in the morning. Mycroft stands in the doorway, looking at him for a while. Greg wraps his arm around him from behind and joins the view. "I was a little worried," he whispers. "That he wouldn't feel like family, or at least that it would take a while. But...it didn't take long at all."

Greg kisses his cheek. Sherlock walks past him and says, "All right, the kid who actually brushed his teeth is done with the bathroom now."

"If you're jealous we can come back later and stare at you when you're sleeping," Greg offers.

"No, it’s way too creepy watching the two of you do it to Oliver, let alone thinking about you coming back when I’m asleep," Sherlock says, pushing past them to get to his own bedroom. Yet when the two of them follow him in he does a little side grin that he doesn't think that they can see.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a wedding chapter.

Mycroft turns with horror at the knock at the door. "Stop! Greg! You can't see me before the ceremony."

"Honey, I need some help with this. I don't even know what a cummerbund _is._ "

"Get your dad to help you," Mycroft insists through the door.

"Great. So it's not a wedding until there is some superstition that makes my life harder," Greg mutters. He turns to see Sherlock standing there.

"Hold still," Sherlock says, quickly untangling the offending band of cloth and setting it to rights.

"Thank you," Greg says, exhaling in relief. "Honestly, I thought I was going to be the one to teach you how to tie a tie, and-"

"Mycroft taught me," Sherlock says. "I was four. It really is a basic skill when you apply yourself."

Greg laughs. Sherlock turns his attention to the cuff links. "You're a mess. You should never be allowed to dress yourself again. How did you grow up without knowing how to do all of this?"

"Your brother's taste in clothes is a bit out of my league," Greg says. "Actually all of your brother is out of my league."

Sherlock straightens Greg’s tie. "I don't know about that. You might be underestimating yourself a bit.” Sherlock steps back to survey him, and when Greg’s outfit meets Sherlock’s approval Sherlock says, “Welcome to the family.”

"Thank you," Greg says seriously.

"But that's not quite right, is it? Saying that is Like saying there was a family before you, but it's more like the family formed around you. Like you brought it into being," Sherlock says with a quiver of his lip.

Greg pulls him into a hug. Sherlock relaxes into it for a few seconds, and then the teenager pulls away, embarrassed. "I've got to check on Oliver. See if he can dress himself any better than you."

Greg laughs, and gives him a final thump on the back as Sherlock heads off.

***

Greg stands in the yard looking toward the house with his stomach flopping. Mycroft was supposed to make his appearance ten minutes ago. Maybe he decided that this was too close to a marriage for him after all. Or worse maybe he simply realized that Greg was not the one for him.

Then Mycroft opens the door. Oh, a panic attack, that was the cause for the delay. The traces of it are still on Mycroft’s face, despite Mycroft’s efforts to wash them away. Greg holds out his hand to him, and a smile breaks out on Mycroft's face. He walks quickly.

"You okay? We can postpone, or cancel, if we need to," Greg says with concern.

Mycroft squeezes his hand, and they walk onto the little stage that Greg’s father built in his back yard for the occasion.

"Thank you for coming," Greg says, addressing the small crowd of gathered people. Mycroft's hand grows sweatier, and Lestrade puts an arm around him, pulling him in close. "Thank you all for coming to our commitment ceremony. We're not going to get married until it's legal, but we have come here to promise that we’re going to love each other forever. And since I never got to officially propose I'm going to do that now. Yeah?" he asks pulling Mycroft's face away from his chess enough that he can see it. "You ready?"

Mycroft nods.

Greg debates going on one knee, but instead pulls away just a little bit more, and holds both of Mycroft’s hands between their bodies as they face one another. "I met you and your brother on the worst days of your lives, and there was no way that I could see any goodness in it. But...you're certainly the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if you can grant me the privilege of being by your side for the rest of our life together, you would make me so happy."

Mycroft hides his face against Greg’s shoulder for a few seconds, and then he pulls away as Greg did a minute ago.

"Sorry about-" but he stops apologizing when Greg grins at him. "I'm not typically very brave. And today I am very overwhelmed, but I’m overwhelmed with happiness. I am so happy I don't know how to deal with all of this, but I think I'm going to have to learn how to be this happy now that I am spending my life with you. Ah...to the actual promise." He takes a breath to steal himself. "You always and forever and only. You I love."

Greg smiles too. "Yes. I will love you forever." Then he draws Mycroft towards him for a kiss.

"Now then, come on Sherlock and Ollie, up here with us. We've got to get the whole family in on it," Greg says.

"I'm not about to kiss you," Sherlock teases, causing chuckles.

"No, but will you settle for a hug?" Greg says.

The family hugs, and then the ceremony part is over.

"Do you mind?" Mycroft whispers in Greg's ear. "Can I... have a bit of a break before cake and greeting people?"

"Yeah. Do you want me to come?" he whispers back.

Mycroft chuckles. "You're asking if I want you to slip away to a bedroom with me moments after getting married while our friends and family sit here? No thank you. Not exactly the impression I want to give."

"Oh, come now," Greg whispers back. "It's not like they don't know what sorts of things married people get up to."

Mycroft glares at him, and then goes off for his break. When he returns to the party it feels less “too much” than it did before. After all, this is just the twenty people that they care most about in the world having lunch in his in-law's house.

"Up for a hug, son?" Mr. Lestrade says, standing up.

"Yes, thank you," he says, taking one from his mother-in-law next.

"I fixed you up a plate. Unless you want to go straight for the cake?” Greg says, handing it to his husband

"I'm not an animal," Mycroft says, taking the plate and sitting next to his husband. He suddenly changes his tune when he realizes the request may not have been completely about him. "Although you probably didn't want to wait all of that time."

"You're fine," Greg says taking his hand. "We're running the show, no one else."

Mycroft finds that he's still a bit too excited to eat, but he manages to put a few bites away. Then they cut the cake. Not a wedding cake (Mycroft had insisted) but a rather a plain sheet cake which tastes amazing but is not much to look at.

Mrs. Lestrade fusses over taking some pictures in every possible combination. By the time that's done the party has dwindled down to just family.

"Well,” Uncle Rudy says. "I suppose it's about time for me to take the boys back to London, and for you two to get to your hotel."

Mycroft tries hard not to blush, but his husband had gotten the idea that everyone knew what they were going to do into his head, and it was more than a little bit unnerving.

"Are you really sure that you only want me to watch them for a night? I do think that you boys deserve a proper honeymoon. There really is no reason not to take a week.”

"We're just fine," Greg says. "My husband continues to tell me that this is not a wedding, and so we won't be having a honeymoon."

Mycroft adds. "We'll take a family holiday when summer comes. We don't even really need this night, it's only...traditional for the first night, and I had to give in to some aspects of the traditional of this not a wedding for my husband's sake."

Greg tilts his head at Mycroft blaming him for the night in the hotel. It wasn't actually his idea, but he's not about to give that away. He just smiles at Mycroft fondly, and hugs the boys goodbye. Then, just before they are gone he gives some last directions to Uncle Rudy. "Check under Sherlock's bed, but don't make a big deal about the fact that you're doing it. He isn't exactly proud that he's scared of things that go bump in the night. If Ollie doesn't brush his teeth in front of you assume he hasn't brushed them at all, and-" He pauses. "Thank you for taking care of them. It means a lot to us, to have someone we can rely on. To entrust our kids to, and....I know you didn't have to decide to look after Ollie just like you do Sherlock, but you do anyway."

Uncle Rudy grins and pulls Greg in for a hug. "I'll be babysitter for as big as your family gets. And if you change your mind later, and decide to take a few more days, then just know that I've got the kids looked after."

"Well, thank you, but I really think that Mycroft is going to want to get back to our normal lives after today.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding Night.

"Should I use the bathroom first?" Greg asks as he puts down their luggage in the hotel room that they'd rented for the night. He and Mycroft have had several more mutual orgasms since the first night at his parent’s house, but they still haven't been nude in front of one another. When Mycroft doesn't respond Greg is about to suggest going downstairs to the lobby until his partner is ready for bed.

"I...ah...had a fantasy somewhat similar to yours in your childhood bed. Only mine involves, well, my wedding night, which this isn’t, but it’s close enough for fantasy, and I don’t want to wait decades for my husband to undress me for the first time.”

"Oh, well, now you've got me wishing I practiced more with this fancy get up. Remember that your brother had to help me get dressed this morning,” Greg chuckles. "I'll do my best,” he says, stepping foraord to undo one of Mycroft’s buttons.

Mycroft steps away from him and says, "Only...It's a bit vulnerable to be naked in front of you, so I'm going to ask you to do the undressing when you're already naked. And...I don't want to have a part in you getting naked."

"All right, so am I doing this quick and practical or am I doing more of a strip tease?"

"The ah...second one," Mycroft says, blushing and not looking at Greg’s face.

"Okay," he says. "Go ahead and take a seat on the bed."

Mycroft does, looking nervous. Greg sloughs off his coat, and lets it drop to the floor.

"Pick it up,” Mycroft says swallowing.

Greg agrees, and then asks, "I’m curious? Is that out of concern for my wedding suit or part of the clothing kink?"

"Kink? I have a kink?" Mycroft says, looking devastated.

"That’s not an insult!" Greg says. "I won't say it again if it offends you. I'm sorry. It's just...I mean, kinks aren't bad. They’re just people who know how to ask for what they want. They’re powerful."

"I always thought it meant weird," Mycroft blushes. "If this isn't regular sex we don't have to do it."

"This is something a lot of people want," Greg says. "But all that really matters when two people are having sex is whether both of them are enjoying it or not. Okay? There is nothing weird about a tiny little clothing kink, or any kink that doesn’t harm others, actually.”

Greg hangs up his coat and starts up on the cuff links. He feels somehow that he should be dancing, but he doesn't know how to do that, and based on the intense look that Mycroft is giving him whatever he’s doing is working. It takes him a couple of tries to undo the cufflinks. Mycroft holds out his hand and undoes them. They drop into his lap, and Greg thinks about picking them up, but wisely waits until Mycroft hands them to him,. Then he puts them neatly on the cabinet.

The waist, button by button, and Mycroft is licking his lips.

His shirt, and Mycroft is already hard, shifting under the pressure.

He hangs up the coat, and when he turns around Mycroft is laying back on the bed. "Sorry, I need a bit of a moment."

"That's okay, take your time," Greg says, leaning against the wall. He effortlessly makes the pose look ten times better by shooting Mycroft a smoky smile.

"I can't believe how amazing you are about all of this," Mycroft mutters. "I left in the middle of our wedding, and I just asked for a break in the middle of sex, and you just...never reproach me for any of it. I don't understand."

"Because, love," Greg says, sitting at the edge of the bed. "You're not doing anything wrong. Should we just go to a cuddle?"

"No, I want to do this.” Mycroft says. “I want this so much that-"

"It's a little too much," Greg says. "I understand."

"God, you're perfect for me," Mycroft says, reaching out his hand. They hold hands for a while before he lets go and says, "You can get started again."

Greg stands up, and slowly removes the belt. Then he playfully steps forward, and wraps it around Mycroft's back, and using the belt to pull Mycroft in for a kiss which puts Mycroft more at ease. Then he hangs that up too.

"S...socks and shoes next," Mycroft requests.

"Well, I'm afraid that's going to be pretty inelegant unless I sit down."

Mycroft pats the bed next to him.

Greg doesn't really know a sexy way to take off his socks and shoes, so he just does it as quickly as he can. Mycroft takes his socks and stuffs them down in the shoes, and then Greg puts them under the clothing rack.

When he turns Mycroft is sprawled alluringly on the bed, and it almost takes away Greg’s breath. Mycroft glances down at Greg’s trousers.

Mycroft continues to lay on the bed as Greg unfastens them, and slips mostly out. When he gets to the very end it becomes clear that he's going to have to do some undignified wiggling, but he’s saved from it by Mycroft moving forward to remove them, and then putting them on a hanger.

Greg puts his hands at the elastic of his pants, but locks eyes with Mycroft in an invitation. Mycroft moves forward, and just with the slight touch of a single finger on each side, pulls them down and off. Mycroft doesn’t fold the pants, but just drops them on the floor as he stares at Greg. Greg feels more than naked: he feels as if he's just removed a layer of skin with Mycroft fully dressed and him nude.

It's several long minutes before Mycroft stands, holds his hands straight out on either side, and says, "What are you waiting for?"

Greg moves behind him, and wraps himself around Mycroft for a few long seconds before he removes the coat and hangs it up. Then he's back for the waistcoat, which he does from the back, causing Mycroft's breath to faulter. Then he moves to the front, and lifts Mycroft's hand to his mouth for a kiss before slowly removing the cufflinks. "I'll practice, and one day I'll do this with my tongue."

Mycroft whimpers.

Greg moves to his back again to unbutton his shirt, and he runs his hand over Mycroft's chest a few times before he removes it. Then the undershirt goes, which Greg folds and places on the dresser. Mycroft watches his care for the clothes, and Greg smiles.

"Take a seat," he commands. Mycroft obeys him, and Greg kneels before him, slowly undoing the laces and pulling the shoe off. He goes for the socks but is tripped up by unexpected sock garters. "Yeah, out of my league here, Hun," he says.

"Just leave them, and get the rest off," Mycroft says with a frantic tone. Greg hurries things along as he removes the trousers and the pants in one motion.

Greg starts to move up him to do their usual frontage, only without the clothes this time. "No...ahh..." Mycroft says.

Greg sits back on his haunches. "Something new? Take your time. Tell me what you want."

"I don’t want to take my time," Mycroft says, but he gently takes Greg's head, and pulls it toward himself.

"Clear enough," Greg mutters, setting to work.

It doesn't take long until Mycroft has come, and Greg moves back knowing that he won't be able to endure being touched for a bit. "Come up here," Mycroft says after a bit, and Greg joins him on the bed, moving to hold him tight.

"I want to return the favor now, but can you lay down while I do it? I...ah...read that was easiest."

"You don't have to..." Greg begins.

"I want to, a lot," Mycroft says. He crouches over Greg, and then he looks at him with alarm. "I ah...meant to pay a lot of attention when you were doing it to me so that I would know what to do, but....I'm afraid I was a bit distracted."

Greg laughs. "I wouldn't be doing my job right if you weren't a lot distracted while I was doing that. I can...give you directions if you want."

Mycroft nods, still a few inches away from him.

"Okay, go ahead, and give it a lick."

Mycroft just flicks his tongue over the top of it at first, and then slowly runs it down and back up.

"Okay, so...it works best if you can sort of work over the bottom part with your hand, as the top part goes into your mouth."

The pace that Mycroft sets with his hand is very slow. But he pops the tip in and out of his mouth at a much faster speed. That alone would be enough to set Greg on fire, but the way Mycroft rolls his eyes back, enjoying it, nearly does him in.

"Oh God, you're doing really well," Greg encourages, pausing several times when Mycroft draws the breath from him. He puts his hand on the back of Mycroft's head, and gives it a bit of a scalp massage.

"Oh, careful of those teeth," Greg warns when one of Mycroft's catches him.

"I'm sorry," Mycroft says, pulling away.

"It's okay. Whenever your mouth starts to get dry you can come up here, and I'll wet it for you with a kiss."

"Oh, yeah, that is becoming an issue," Mycroft says, moving up Greg’s body in order to take a long kiss from his lover. Then he moves back down.

"Honey, when your jaw starts to get tired, you've got to stop okay?" Greg warns a bit later.

"I...I'm going to make you come," Mycroft says, looking hurt.

"I understand you wanting that, honey, Look, I just don't always come this way, and if it doesn't happen today you need to not take it personally," Greg warns.

Mycroft looks up at him with fear in his eyes. "I'm going to be good at blow jobs though. I have to be."

"You are, fuck," he says leaning his head back against the pleasure Mycroft makes his body feel. "But even if you are good at it, that doesn’t mean I’d come. Oh God," he says putting his head back. "And you don't ‘have’ to be good at blow jobs for me to love you.”

Mycroft continues for a few more minutes before Greg says, "Okay...you can stop now," and gently pushes Mycroft away.

"No! I want to make you finish."

"Nope, not on our first time. We're not dealing with me coming in your mouth right now," he says, rolling over, and finishing himself.

"Why not?" Mycroft asks, pouting a bit.

"Because it's nasty," Greg says. "And I didn't want our first time to be nasty.”

"I'm sure you don't taste nasty," Mycroft says, leaning forward to lick a drop from his lover's softening cock. He makes a horrible face, and runs to the bathroom where his partner hears him gagging.

Greg knows it's not very kind, but he can't keep himself from chuckling. "I did warn you." He gets up to bring his lover his bathroom bag.

After the sounds of mouth wash swishing ends with a spit Mycroft exclaims, "Oh my God, it's terrible! It's so bitter!"

"Yeah, honey, so swallowing doesn't have to be a thing. I don't...it's not like it turns me on or anything. I would be perfectly happy with you popping off and finishing me with your hand every time. You never have to taste that again."

"No bloody joke, I'm not going to be doing that again!" he exclaims in horror, causing his lover to chuckle again. Mycroft starts brushing his teeth, and Greg gets up to join him in the bathroom, washing himself before dropping down to his knees in order to wash Mycroft up too. His lover grins at him as he does it. "Thank you," he says as he spits.

"No, problem," Greg says standing up, and trying to kiss him.

"No..." Mycroft says pushing gently on his chest. "See, the problem is I can still taste it. Do you have any gum?"

"No," Greg says.

"I saw a vending machine somewhere. I'm going to go get some gum at the vending machine, okay?"

"All right," Greg says, opening up a suitcase to take his pajamas out of them. "You don't mind if I come with you, do you?"

"Of course not," Mycroft says warmly, pulling his lover near enough to him to hug. "I'm sorry about the freak out that I had back there."

"Not a problem. In fact, if you'll remember I did predict it," Greg says.

"It was good otherwise, wasn't it?" Mycroft says nervously. "If not, I can study more..."

"Above average," Greg says. "Wait, did you just say study more?"

"I...might have read some things, and watched some things as well," Mycroft says, chewing nervously on his lip.

"Okay, I thought I made this super clear, but I'm going to say it again, and I'm going to go ahead and just keep saying it forever and for always until you actually start to believe it. You do not have to study anything for me. Okay? The whole point of this is just for both of us to have pleasure and happiness, and that is literally all that we are aiming for, okay?"

"It is easier," Mycroft says looking nervous. Greg pulls his partner to his chest and waits for him to continue speaking. "I don't know that I would have been able to do that if I hadn't researched. It would have been just way, way, too stressful."

"I understand," Greg says, kissing his head. "Go ahead, and do any research that you want to do. Especially if it involves you watching porn. That idea is certainly appealing to me. Is it something that you'd be interested in us doing together?"

"Oh, God no!" Mycroft explains in horror, blushing. "Just no," he repeats seriously.

"Okay, I can accept that," Greg says. “Let's go get you some gum.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John start talking.  
> Both Holmes brother panic.

Mycroft picks up the phone in order to make a call and is suddenly frozen when he hears the noise of a teenage boy babbling about football. Before he can recover himself his brother sticks his head out of his room and shouts, "Mycroft get off the phone."

He hangs up but continues to stare at the phone stunned. He looks over at his partner who is chopping vegetables on the edge of the counter. "I think Sherlock has a boyfriend."

Greg pauses. "Possibly, but I’m worried that he might just have a crush on his best friend..."

"Oh?" Mycroft says in alarm. Greg is probably right. He's way better at reading attraction than Mycroft is himself. "Well, that's not good! He's going to get his heart broken. How can we prevent that? Should I go in there right now?"

Greg grabs him by his elbow as Mycroft heads past him. "Please don’t interrupt Sherlock talking to his crush on the phone."

"They were talking about football. Sherlock has never watched football," Mycroft says, mystified.

Greg chuckles, "Yeah, that's a pretty normal thing to happen when you have a crush on someone. You pretend you’re interested in whatever they like."

"Wait, did you do that with me? How much of our relationship has been a lie?" Mycroft asks, looking panicked.

"Oh my God," Greg says, pulling him close to him for a kiss, and then saying, "I never lied to you. I might have occasionally pretended to be more interested in politicians who have been dead for hundreds of years than I really was, but when you really got into it they did become pretty interesting. Besides, just watching you be that excited is amazing," he says, sitting back down and pulling Mycroft down on his lap.

"Don't do that anymore," Mycroft says, accepting the close contact, but not turning to mush over it as he often does. "I'm never going to learn how to properly interact with people if you baby me."

Greg kisses his cheek. "You’re still not understanding. The things became interesting to me because you were interested in them. It's the same way with Sherlock. He might not really be suddenly mad about football, but he probably is interested in it a bit. In fact, I might be able to talk him into watching a game with me now."

Mycroft stands up, looking at him in horror. "You want to watch football? I've never seen you watch football. When is it on? Can you watch it now?"

"Mycroft, I watch games sometimes when I'm out with the guys, or when you and the kids are busy doing something else."

"Well, you should watch all of the games that you want to watch. It's not right for you to change yourself because of me!"

"I didn't change myself. My priorities changed, and that's perfectly normal. Particularly for someone who just became a parent."

Mycroft looks at the parsley that Greg is chopping. "Is it just about supper time? We will let Sherlock finish his conversation, but I'll go get Oliver."

When he walks by Sherlock's room he doesn't hear any sound inside, so he knocks lightly on the door. His brother makes a sort of terse sound which isn't a no, so Mycroft pushes the door open ever so slightly. "I didn't mean to interrupt you before. I was honestly trying to make a call, and I might have been a bit surprised when I heard you and didn't hang up right away.

Sherlock nods, but he doesn't say anything right away.

"You know that you could invite John over, right?" Mycroft prompts.

Sherlock shrugs, and then he mutters, "I could maybe...invite him for a sleep over on my birthday."

"Oh...I um...I guess that depends. Are you dating or are you friends?" Mycroft says, blinking in surprise.

"I...I'm not actually sure," Sherlock says.

"Okay, well my answer depends on yours. I think it's appropriate to have a fourteen-year-old have a friend sleep over, but I'm not comfortable with you having a boyfriend sleep over."

"Gross," Sherlock says twisting his nose up. "It's not like I'm going to do something, Mycroft!"

"While I am relieved by your age appropriate reaction I still think this is a limit that I should stick to. Either way you can have him come over during the day," Mycroft says.

"Do you think John expects me to do something?" Sherlock says, his face going suddenly pale. "I never even thought of it. I just assumed we’re too young!"

"I am sure you are too young, and I'm sure John wasn't thinking about it anymore than you were," Mycroft says, alarmed by his brother's panic and his inability to calm him down.

Greg arrives behind Mycroft just then and wraps his arm around him. "Sherlock, if John can't respect your no, then he wouldn't be worth spending time with anyway."

"You don't understand!" Sherlock bemoans.

"I do," Greg says firmly. "Because your brother and I didn't have sex until very recently..."

"Oh my God!" Mycroft exclaims in dismay. Greg smiles, and pulls his husband close

"That was information that I did not need," Sherlock says, blushing.

"Here’s my point, then,” Greg continues. “I want you to imagine if I treated your brother the way that you are worried about this boy treating you. How would you feel if I pressured him? Laid down expectations on him? Would you allow me in your home?"

"I wouldn't want you on the same planet as him," Sherlock says, glaring.

"Right, and that is the only appropriate reaction. You aren't even sure if this boy wants to date you. So, we’re borrowing trouble when we’re worrying about him expecting things you don't want to give. Okay? You are both children, and I think that both of you need be in the same space where you'll want to be friends or maybe you'll both want some long romantic chats. Okay? Because that's age appropriate. If he wants to do things that you don’t want to, you can always blame me. Because I really won’t allow you to go farther than mushy talk and romantic glances. But you can use that excuse your whole life. Any time you don't want to do something, you just tell them your big scary cop brother-in-law forbids it."

"That's actually super helpful," Sherlock admits. "I'm going to use that.

"Good," Greg says with a smile.

Sherlock looks at him awkwardly. "Keep in mind that I am not totally sure I want to hear the answer, especially if it is detailed, but...are you and Mycroft okay?"

Mycroft lets out a little embarrassed groan from Greg's chest.

"Very okay," Greg says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Okay, good," Sherlock says, letting out a breath.

"It's dinner time," Greg tells him.

"You’re going to have to give me a couple of minutes to let the embarrassment roll off, okay?" Sherlock says with concern.

"Absolutely," Greg says, pulling Mycroft out of the room and closing the door behind them. "You go sit down to dinner, and I'll get Oliver," Greg says to Mycroft, giving him a tiny push in order to get him standing on his own.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exclusive?

Mycroft tries to pretend that he's already asleep when his husband comes to bed. Greg stands and looks at his back for a while, and then he climbs in behind him and presses a kiss to his shoulder which breaks all of Mycroft's plans, and causes him to start sobbing.

Greg pulls him to his chest and holds him as the crying slowly pitters off.

"I'm such a shit partner," Mycroft sobs.

"Hey, sweetie, where is all of this coming from?" Greg says, looking around the room as if the worry that Mycroft has might pop out of a corner somewhere.

"You should have pushed me," Mycroft says. "I should have had sex with you a long time ago. We should...we should do something tonight so I can get ready for proper sex, or maybe you should just...it probably won't hurt as much as I think it will."

"Oh, for the love of God," Greg chuckles. "You got the wrong thing out of that discussion. The whole point is that I would never push you to do that. If I did, I wouldn’t deserve you. You’re asking me to push you? I’m not a rapist."

"I’ve heard you say you want sex with me, but you also think it's rude to ask. You know that I am not good at understanding social skills, and you can't not tell me when you want things because I can't guess! So you're going to be miserable forever if you don't..."

Greg pulls his partner toward him and rubs his back soothing him until he can actually listen to what Greg is trying to tell him. "I'm not missing anything. Okay? What we have is perfect, and it makes me so happy. I promise."

"You want sex," Mycroft says.

"I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but we've been having sex for a while now," Greg says. "And I swear to you I was fine when we weren't.”

"No," Mycroft says. "We...haven't done everything."

"Yeah, and some people never do. Actually depending on your definition of 'everything' I'll go ahead and wager that most people don't do “everything.” I sure as heck am not willing to do “everything”. I swear to you that if I weren’t happy with our sex lives, I would tell you, okay? Being with you is not a sacrifice."

"We are living together, and we already have kids, and..."

"Hey," Greg says sharply. "There are no rules! That's not how it works! There is no list of things that couples are supposed to do. You just do things that both people like. That's literally the only rule. Are you unsatisfied with what's happening? Because I thought we were doing amazing."

"I'm a freak, and you shouldn't have to put up with that. You know that normal people would be with you. yYou don't have to put up with me."

“Except that you aren’t a freak, and I want very much to put up with you,” Greg says.

"Please, can you do something right now?" Mycroft pleads.

"I wasn't really in the mood when I walked in here, and I sure as hell am not now. Okay," he says hugging his husband close. "You know what? I really like snuggling."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Mycroft asks. "I...like it a lot better too, because...well, when we're having sex it's like you’re invisible. It's sensations...very good sensations...but they just completely overwhelm my brain, and all I can feel is this intense sensory input. But when we cuddle it's all you-and it's more intimate."

Greg pulls away and examines his face.

"That was wrong?" Mycroft asks in distress.

"No, I’m just going to ask you..." he closes his eyes for a beat. "No wrong answers if you are honest. Do you want to explore sex with other people?”

"Oh God no!" Mycroft exclaims in horror. "No! I feel more comfortable doing things with you than when I am by myself! I would not let anyone else touch me! Oh my God, I would not let them see me naked. No way," he says burying himself in Greg's chest.

Greg lets out a sigh of relief and rubs his lover's back in order to calm him.

Mycroft pulls away to look at him in horror. "You're asking me if you can swing, aren't you?"

"Oh, fuck no," Greg says. "No, no, baby," he says when Mycroft doesn't look like he believes him.

"It's okay. We never actually had the conversation about exclusivity..." Mycroft begins.

"Shit, Mycroft, it was implied when I fucking married you."

"I understand that it happens in gay relationships with people of our age," Mycroft continues.

Greg holds Mycroft's chin, and forces him to look him in the eyes. "That’s a harmful stereotype about your own people. I have absolutely no desire to fuck other people. None. I was just asking, because you've never had the chance, and I would never take anything from you. Especially...it's not intimate for you. For me it is, it matters that you're the one I'm fucking. I wouldn’t be willing to fuck anyone else. Never again." He rubs his nose against Mycroft's, causing the other man to grin.

"Just because I don't feel connected to you when it’s happening doesn't mean you're interchangeable. You're the only one I trust to see me like that. I can let go when I know you're there, keeping me safe. I wouldn't enjoy it with anyone else. Besides," he grins, throwing his arms around Mycroft. "I snuggle you after, and that is when I feel the closest to you.”

Greg is almost asleep before he hears his partner's nervous voice asking, "Where did we land on that exclusively bit?"

Greg chuckles. "We are exclusive."

"Good," Mycroft says, rolling over and falling to sleep almost instantly.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I lowered the number of chapters! I had them mislabeled so I was off!  
> However, the sequel is coming along nicely. I'm hoping to post two stories in between, but they are only 20 chapters total, so...you will get more chapters in the end!

"Look, if we're going to see each other you're just going to have to come over to my place. My foster mom freaked out when Greg took me home, and she won't let me go over to a place where gay people are," says in annoyance.

"Oh," Sherlock says. A big part of him knows that John doesn't agree with the woman because he saw how little concern John had when he first saw Greg and Mycroft hug, but he would still really like to hear it from John's lips. John's lips, now that's a distraction.

"I told her that she's not allowed to be like that with queer kids in the house, but now she's on this kick where she thinks that Mycroft and Greg have corrupted me. I tried to explain to her I definitely knew that I was bi before I ever met your family, and my sister has never met you, so you certainly can't be blamed for her."

"Oh," Sherlock says. "Ah...I'm gay."

"I figured," John says warmly.

"A-are we, ah..." Sherlock stammers. "I mean, are you my boyfriend?"

"Well, I don't think quite yet. You usually have to, like talk to someone about something like that, but ah...yeah I've got a crush on you, and if you feel the same way then, yeah, I think we could be dating."

"Yeah, I like you. Of course I like you," Sherlock says.

"You do?" John says brightly.

"Yeah," Sherlock says.

"Well, that's...ah...that's good then. Yeah, real good," John says. "So...can you come to my house tomorrow?"

"Sure," Sherlock says. Both of them delay hanging up for a couple of seconds before the phone clicks off, and then Sherlock leans back on the bed just breathing deeply. Then he stands up and opens the door of his bedroom. "Greg! I need you!"

"Okay, coming." Greg says, standing up from his chair in the living room, and following Sherlock into the bedroom. Sherlock closes the door behind him, and says, "John likes me back, and I don't know what to do."

"Maybe we should include your brother in this, yeah?" Greg says.

"No," Sherlock says, holding onto his hand in order to stop Greg opening the door. "It's just really personal, and those things tend to stress him out. He's never even dated anyone before you, so it follows that you know everything that he knows, and other things as well."

"Okay," Greg says uncertainly.

"How do you date?" Sherlock asks.

Greg smiles. "Flash back to a conversation with your brother on our first date. Okay, I think you're putting up this artificial divide between romance and friendship. Honestly, when you’re dating John you should just hang out and spend time with him like you did when you were friends. Okay? You like him, and he likes you, and you don't need to make it more complicated than it is."

"Okay," Sherlock says, breathing out and looking a whole lot calmer. "That helps, but I have other questions. Like...how do you know if someone wants to kiss you?"

"Well." Greg sits down on the edge of the bed. "It's actually quite nice to ask people beforehand, especially if it’s the first one. Actually before all kisses wouldn't hurt. But sometimes the asking happens just with body language, you know, leaning in, looking at someone's eyes. You need to worry about whether or not he wants to kiss you, but you should also worry about whether or not you want to kiss him. You don't have to kiss him just because you are dating. It's okay not to make things physical. I think you guys are still a bit too young.."

Sherlock sits down next to him. "So that's against the rules?"

"No," Greg says, letting out a long breath. "Part of the reason is that I don't think banning things is a very good way of making sure they don't happen. You're allowed to kiss if you want to. It's just dating for the first time it’s...intense, isn't it?" he asks. "Makes your stomach swoop?”

Sherlock blushes.

"Okay, yeah, that's good. I don't want you to ever run away from that feeling or think that you’re doing something bad when you feel it. I just...dating is intense at your age, and physical things can be intense, and I just don't want you to take on a whole bunch more than you can handle."

"I...held his hand," Sherlock says.

"Okay," Greg says. "That's fine, but if you’re holding hands before you were even dating, just take your time. I don’t want you to rush into something where you could be hurt.”

"John wouldn't hurt me," Sherlock defends.

"No, I know," Greg says. "Not on purpose, but most relationships end in heartbreak. So," Greg clears his throat. "I guess now would be the time to talk about the physical risks."

Sherlock flops down on his bed and buries his head under pillows.

"You want me to continue talking with you like that?"

"I'm not coming out until it's over."

"Okay, well, the good news is the steps to deal with physical consequences are more concrete than the emotional ones. You know what a condom is?"

"Oh my God!" Sherlock exclaims.

"I'll take that as a yes and assume you can figure out the mechanics unless you ask me questions. I'll just put some in your bathroom, and know there is no judgement if they disappear. More will just appear. We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to, and then I would always be here for you. I expect them to be used whenever something covered by someone's underwear is touched by someone else. Some people don't know that includes hands and mouth, but it does. Testing for infections should happen often when you’re sexually active, and if you’re still this bashful whenever you need this, you can go to the clinic without telling us, okay? But if you aren’t ready to get tested you shouldn’t be doing anything that requires it."

"Yes, fine, I've got it. I didn't actually ask you to come in here to give me a sex talk!" Sherlock exclaims.

"And the most important part of the physical bits of relationships is consent. Verbal and enthusiastic is what you should be looking for."

"Oh my God, you think I'm a rapist!" Sherlock says in despair.

"Of course not, but in the world we live in it would be pretty irresponsible for me not to at least bring it up. There are far too many people in this world who do such things. I also want you to know that you have a right to walk away from any situation you don't feel comfortable in, no questions asked. Kick the ass of people if you need to, and you can always call me to come get you. In any situation, even those that have nothing to do with sex. And if anything ever does happen to you, it’s not your fault. You tell us, and we’ll get you whatever help you need.”"

Sherlock nods. All Greg can see is his neck, but he sees that bending up and down from below the pillows. Sherlock peeks out from under the pillow to glare at Greg, "You know, I'm not even sure that I want to kiss John. I certainly didn't call you in here to talk about sex."

“It had to be done. It probably shouldn’t have been done in association with you dating, but...still new at the parenting bit.”

“All right, I forgive you then,” Sherlock says with a warm smile.


	44. Chapter 44

It takes everything in Sherlock not to be intimidated by the fierce woman who is narrowing her eyes at him as she stands at the door of her house.

"Hello. Is John Watson here?" Sherlock asks with a smile on his face.

"You'll be staying in the living room. No closed doors, and no slinking out of sight."

"Yes ma’am," Sherlock says, his politeness already providing him with an extra social strain.

"Hi," John says, pooping out and grinning from behind the woman.

"Hello," Sherlock says, grinning back at him. They move past John’s foster mother and walk into the living room.

"Hi," John repeats again, standing a bit awkwardly in front of the currently unused fireplace.

"I think we covered that one already," Sherlock says, sitting down on a chair. He really doesn't want to push the woman into banning him from seeing John. John takes the hint and sits down on the couch across from him.

"I joined the rugby team," John says.

"Oh?" Sherlock says. "Can I go to a game?"

"You would be bored to tears," John chuckles.

"Not when you are playing," Sherlock says, and John looks away blushing.

"I'm going to be going home soon. My dad just left another stint in rehab, and he's started anger management. I don't know how many classes they’re going to make him take this time though, so it might still be a couple of weeks."

"Do you think it's going to help this time?" Sherlock asks.

"I don't care. I'll just be relieved when I'm not staying in the houses of strangers or in institutions anymore. You're lucky your brother took you in because I'm telling you that that is weird."

"I believe you," Sherlock says seriously. "Where is Harry?"

"She's out with a 'friend'," John says. He looks around before leaning forward to whisper, "Either the jail master is an idiot or she's only afraid of male homosexuality."

"Ah," Sherlock says.

"It's pretty weird that we both have gay siblings though. What are the chances of that?"

"Actually," Sherlock says. "You have a slightly higher chance of being gay when you have a gay sibling, but it's a very small increase. There is a far greater chance amongst younger siblings that have a lot of older siblings than among those who have only one sibling who is gay"

"Really?"

"Of course," Sherlock says raising his eyebrow. "What possible motive would I have to lie about that?"

John grins, "Hey, there is a show about unsolved murders that is going to come on. Want to watch?”

"Yes!" Sherlock says.


	45. Chapter 45

Mycroft works very hard not to deduce people that matter to him. Actually, he tries hard not to deduce anyone, but that doesn't always work. Greg's right pocket was bulged mysteriously on a day when he came home forty-two minutes later than normal. When Greg is in the bathroom later that night, Mycroft peaks into the coat pocket.

He'd expected a ring, actually. They'd never gotten rings for their non-marriage ceremony. Greg must have assumed that it wouldn't be welcome, but Mycroft finds that he would gratefully wear it if it were offered to him.

It’s not a ring in Greg’s pocket though. It is condoms and lube. The lube was not terribly alarming, as they used it in bed together, but Mycroft and Greg didn't use condoms. They'd discussed it, right before the first time they'd touched each other without clothes in between them and decided that it was unnecessary with their long-term relationship. Mycroft had been a virgin, and Greg had only had three partners before, all with protection, and he'd been tested after his last BM (before Mycroft) partner.

The next day the condoms were gone. Mycroft checked both of the bedside tables and the bathroom cabinet. Everywhere he thought to look yielded negative results. Mycroft knows the adult thing to do would be to confront Greg, but there is a very good chance that this discussion is going to destroy everything that is between them, and Mycroft is not ready for it to all be over.

Mycroft has never been a good actor. He has to work hard _not_ to show everything that he feels on his face so he avoids being in the same room as Greg whenever he can, at least unless their children are there as well. He invents a large homework project which he works on long until after Greg has gone to bed. Mycroft also takes to sleeping on the couch.

The fourth night in a row this happens Mycroft wakes up to Greg kneeling beside the couch and slowly moving the hair away from his eyes "Honey, you need to come to bed right now, before you work yourself to death."

Something about the honest concern in his eyes moves Mycroft to tears. Greg crawls up on the couch, and holds him while he cries. "Sweetie, can you tell me what’s wrong?"

"Just stop, Greg," Mycroft says pulling away from him. "I know!"

"Fantastic. Now you can tell me, and we’ll both know."

"I know I shouldn't have snooped, but... I found the condoms," Mycroft says.

Greg laughs.

Mycroft pulls farther away from him. "I'm so glad that the ending of our relationship is funny to you!"

"No! Sorry! Oh, Mycroft, honey, I am not cheating on you. They’re still in the house."

"I searched," Mycroft says, glaring at him.

"Yeah, and I can see why you wouldn't think to search your brother's bathroom where I put them like I promised after our sex talk last week."

"Sherlock is having sex?" Mycroft says, going pale.

"Thank God, no," Greg says, sitting on the couch next to him. "But I wanted them available in a just in case kind of way. Hopefully, I won’t be replacing them until they expire. Honestly, he's not thinking about this yet."

"Okay, good," Mycroft says, still looking worried.

"And I am not cheating on you, Mycroft. I would never cheat on you," he says seriously, reaching out his hand.

"I thought it was over," Mycroft says, falling into his arms. "And I’m not ready for it to be over."

"No, of course not," Greg says holding him. "God that must have been awful for you. Can we go to bed now?"

"Yeah," Mycroft says, slowly standing up and holding Greg's hand as they walk down the hallway together.

"Mycroft, when you went into my pocket..." Greg begins when they are in the room together.

"I know. It was a breach of trust, and I'm sorry. I want you to know I wasn’t looking for what I found. I wasn't suspicious of you before I looked."

"I believe you," Greg says tilting his head. "But you were expecting something when you went into my pocket. Do you mind telling me what you thought was going to be there?"

Mycroft looks at him, panicked.

Greg smiles. "Mycroft, do you want a ring?"

"We said we weren't married," Mycroft says, looking away.

"Hey," Greg says, grabbing his chin, and turning it toward him gently. "Tomorrow let's get rings."


	46. Chapter 46

John's parents get custody back, and the next day Mycroft and Greg give him a key to their house. John takes the tube to the flat after school each day. He arrives before any of the others get there. Sherlock picks up Oliver on his way home, and then all of the boys have time to finish an afterschool tea and do a bit of homework before Mycroft returns from his last class of the day. There is forty-five minutes between that and when Greg comes home, and they start making supper.

Every member of their little family is happier than they have ever been in their entire lives. Even their weekly visits to Eurus are going better and better. It's starting to feel less like mind games and more like actual time with their family. They are even talking about moving Eurus to a reform school, which would give her much more freedom while still not letting her be any kind of a threat to the general population.

At the end of the night Greg drops off John in his police car, but on one particular night he arrives back with John still in tow.

"I thought we agreed that sleep overs were no longer happening now that they are dating," Mycroft says with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah," Greg says. "See, when I went to drop him off there was a lot of yelling, and a little bit of a crashing sound."

"Okay, bringing him back was for sure the correct decision then," Mycroft says, giving a sympathetic smile to the boy. "I'll set a bed up for you on the couch."

"I'll go see if Sherlock has some pajamas that he can borrow," Greg says.

Mycroft is almost out of the room to get the bedding when he turns back to the distressed John and holds out his arms in a silent offer of a hug.

John accepts, but adds, "I'm not upset. I knew he would fall off the wagon. He always falls off the wagon."

"That doesn't mean it's right," Mycroft says, "You are allowed to be disappointed that it didn’t work out again.”

"It's harder this time," John says quietly. "I didn't ever know before...you do care about Sherlock and Oliver more than anything else in your life. You would never choose alcohol over them,” he says in awe.

Mycroft pulls away so that he can look at John's face. "You are also important to me, John. You understand that, right? In this house you matter just as much as everyone else."

John swallows his tears away, and it takes a couple attempts at that before he can speak. "I really appreciate you letting me crash here even though it’s against the rules."

"You are welcome here whenever you need it, okay? There are no rules that are more important than your safety," Mycroft says.

"Thanks," John grins.

Greg reappears in the hallway and hands John a pair of Sherlock's pajamas.


	47. Chapter 47

John stares down at the sheet of paper in his hands. It's the first time in his life that he's actually seen A's on a report card that also had his name on it. In fact, the last report card that he'd gotten was the only one that he'd ever seen a B on. He badly wants someone to be proud of him, but he feels that just straight out asking would be too much. He's got to figure out something fast because Sherlock and Oliver are going to be coming home within a few minutes.

When Sherlock and Ollie arrive home and hour later they make not mention of it.

John sighs, and then he walks over to the refrigerator. It's already fairly covered with Oliver's grade school art projects, and Sherlock's drawings of internal organs (not the sort of thing one really wants to see when he is going to fetch out some food, as Greg always points out without ever removing them). John finds a free magnet, and with a deep breath he places his report card beneath it. Then he heads back to his snack and his algebra.

Mycroft notices that something is different the second that he comes into the kitchen, and it only takes him a few more seconds to locate exactly what the difference is. He walks over to examine the new piece of paper.

"Well this is fantastic!" Mycroft exclaims.

"It's....you know just normal. Sherlock pulls those sorts of marks all the time,” John mutters, almost wishing he hadn’t shown it now.

Mycroft gives him a face of disbelief. "It's amazing, John, and it proves to me that you have always been clever. The only reason you didn't achieve these high of marks sooner is because you didn't have a suitable environment to study in."

"Thank you for giving me that," John says.

"Of course." Mycroft grins. "And we are going out to eat to celebrate these amazing marks, and your constant brilliance! Pick any restaurant!"

John freezes with a look of concern on his face. "I...don't know what to pick."

"Okay, well, tell us the places you are considering, and perhaps we can help you narrow the choices down."

John's cheeks turn a bright shade of red. "I've never...been out to eat before."

"Right," Mycroft says, working hard at trying to keep the pity off of his eyes. "Well, you've eaten enough dinners that you should be able to pick the sort of cuisine that you like. We can go from there."

"Can't Sherlock pick?" John asks.

"Yes, if that's what you want," Mycroft says. Deciding right then and there that he is going to start spoiling John as much as he can. Starting with dinner, an appetizer and one of those desserts meant for two, but only for the boy alone. God knows the kid deserved that, and a whole lot more. It occurs to Mycroft that 'spoiling' might not actually be what the kid needs the most. After all, if he can’t even imagine going out to eat, what other things have his limited exposure in life denied him from even knowing he wanted? “John, what do you want to do with your life?”

John blinks at him as if he doesn't even understand the question. "I don't know. I guess mostly I want to get through secondary school. That's a big accomplishment in my family."

"Right." Mycroft says. He smiles at him again. "You know, I am proud of you for these marks. And if your goal really is just to get through secondary school I'm going to be proud of you when you do it. But it's important that you know that you would be amazing at university and that that is something you should really consider."

John nods seriously, and Mycroft makes a mental note to put more focus on helping him to be able to dream bigger.

"Mycroft, do you think we could bring a meal to Euros when we go out to eat tonight? I know that this is really about celebrating how well John's doing, but...she's doing well too. Can we make it a little bit of a duel celebration?" He looks quickly at John, and says, "I mean, if you don't mind, of course."

"Not at all," John says.

"I think that is an amazing idea," Mycroft says, pulling his brother close to him. "I am proud of how generous and open you are becoming. And," he says turning to Oliver with a smile, "I'm pretty proud of you too. I'm lucky all of my kids are such amazing human beings."

He doesn't miss John's grin at being included among Mycroft's kids.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a sequel all written. I have two stories planned to post in between (giving me time to edit the sequel). Saturday I plan to post a short little Christmas story, and then an omegaverse story running about 20 chapters. Then I plan on returning to this world, because we've got to finish Eurus's redemption arc (and find out what happened to those condoms in Sherlock's bathroom).

Sherlock wakes up in the night with terror seeping into every cell of his body. He tries to just withstand the complex emotion, but it overcomes him so completely that he feels like if he doesn't do something about it in the next couple of seconds it’s going to be fatal. It's not a new feeling, but usually Sherlock just forces himself to white knuckle through it. Now he is certain that he cannot stand it that long.

He screams at the top of his lungs, and both Greg and Mycroft come running into the room in record time. Oliver stands back in the hallway looking alarmed.

"What's wrong?" Mycroft asks, rather surprised to discover that there is no obvious attack.

"I was just so scared. I'm sorry, I feel very foolish."

"That's okay," Mycroft says, climbing into bed next to his brother and giving him a hug. "What are you afraid of?"

"I was convinced that Eurus was under the bed. I woke up with this fear that I couldn’t stand. It was so bad that I couldn't get back to sleep," Sherlock admits. "I felt like it was the end of the world, but now I just feel like an idiot, and that I really overreacted."

"No. I'm glad you alerted us. I just don't know why you didn't come to our room like you used to. Why didn't you do that this time?" Mycroft asks, gently stroking his hair.

"I don't know why it feels so different this time, but it does. I... was way too scared to step out of bed."

"You're calmer now?" Mycroft asks.

Sherlock pauses, and then he nods his head, but it's pretty clear that he’s lying.

"I'll just look under the bed," Greg says dropping to the floor. "Mycroft..." he says in shock. "Eurus is under the bed."

"Gregory, that is not funny!" Mycroft scolds.

"It's not meant to be funny," Greg informs him. "It's the truth."

"Does she have weapons?" Sherlock asks, looking like he's about to start having a panic attack.

"I can't see anything," Greg informs him.

"Eurus, honey," Mycroft says. "So far, you've not done anything too big. If it stays that way I will use this as an argument for the fact that you are getting closer to being ready to rejoin our society. Right now there are not going to be a whole lot of negative consequences. But if you mess this up, if you hurt someone, it's going to ruin your chances to go to the reform school."

"Yes, brother dear," Eurus says from under the bed. Mycroft's heart skips a beat as he hears this, because without doubting Greg he really hadn't completely believed that she was under there.

"Okay, Greg, you're going to stand up. I'm going to hand Sherlock to you. I want you to be as far away from the bed as you can where I can still reach, okay? You're going to get him and Oliver into our bedroom. Ollie, you hear me? You are going to go into the room right now to wait for him, okay?"

"Okay," the little boy's startled voice says from the hallway.

"Okay," Mycroft continues. "You'll lock the door when you are all in there, and you'll call 999. You understand me?" Mycroft asks his partner.

"Where are you going to be?" Greg asks standing up, but still with a bit of distance.

"I'm going to stay with Eurus and make sure that she is safe until the police come," Mycroft says, still using a calm, even voice.

"You mean so that I don't run away," Eurus says.

"That's part of it, Eurus. But I am your guardian, and I want to make sure that you are safe too, okay? I don't want you to make any decisions that will have a negative impact on your life. I care about you, and you are part of the reason that I am getting your brother out of here. If you hurt someone it's not only going to be bad for them, but you as well."

He stands up, and Sherlock stands up too, halfway pulled up with him. Mycroft picks up his brother in a princess carry. Greg stands leaning forward.

He puts his brother in Greg's arms, and Greg turns at amazing speed to get him through the door without hurting him. Mycroft jumps off the bed, and then gets down on his stomach so that he can see his sister. She looks even creepier than he'd imagined when he sees her all hunched up with her untamed hair. She looks more like something from a horror film than his little sister.

The door clicks locked behind him.

"Why did you do it?" Mycroft asks.

"Sherlock said that he wanted me to be part of family outings. He brought me restaurant leftovers and says that he wished I was with you. I wanted to be there with you too,” she replies.

"Okay. Yes, okay. We want you to be part of our family, that is true. But we want it to be done the right way. The legal way. The way that can last forever and doesn't have to end with the police showing up."

"I didn't mean for him to wake up," she says. "I just thought that I could spend a little time under his bed, and then I could sneak back into that prison. No one was supposed to know. I just...missed him. I wanted to hear him breathe. I thought if I was clever enough to get away from the prison I would be clever enough not to get noticed here."

"You know why we had to call on you? Someone had to know that you knew how to get out. It's basic safety. Yours as well as other people's."

She nods. "I wasn't going to hurt him."

"Okay, good," Mycroft says with a smile. "That's very good. I'm going to make sure they hear that when they come."

"I..." Eurus says tentatively. "You've hugged me, but maybe that was under more controlled conditions. You probably think I’d want to hurt you if I came out from under the bed."

"No, it’s okay. Come out," Mycroft says, sliding into a sitting position. Eurus slips out from under the bed and falls into his arms. Mycroft rubs her back just like he does his brother's when he's upset. "You're okay," he tells her. "You're safe."

He's still holding her when the doorbell announces the arrival of the police. "Come with me," Mycroft says, holding her in a half hug.

The police officer looks rather surprised to see him answering the door with a child. "We got a call about an escaped murderer?" the cop says in confusion. "Did he get away?"

"She's right here," Mycroft says. "She's family, and she didn't hurt anyone today. Do you think we can avoid cuffing her? She's not resisting arrest, and she is still a child after all."

"Yeah, I suppose that's fine," he says. "So long as she doesn't try to run off.”

"I just wanted to see my brothers," she says. "I never wanted to hurt anyone."

"And she didn't," Mycroft says. "Not today. I want to go with her when you take her. I am her legal guardian after all. I'll help you get her into the car, and then I would love to go check on the rest of my family before we leave."

"Yes sir," the police officer says.

"You're coming with me?" Eurus says in confusion.

"Just to make sure you get safely arranged," Mycroft says warmly. She goes into the locked back seat of the panda car without objection, and even though Mycroft has been working hard to be as calm as he can be, he feels a great deal of relief when the door locks into place. He goes back up the stairs and knocks on the bedroom door. "It's okay, she's locked in the police car."

The door unlocks, but clearly Greg is still on guard and nervous. The boys are backed against the far wall when he opens it. Greg breathes a sigh when he sees Mycroft alone, and he hugs him. "I did _not_ like leaving you alone in that room with her."

"I didn't really like separating the family either. Is everyone okay?" Mycroft asks, hugging both of the boys. Oliver answers quickly, but Sherlock doesn't answer until Mycroft takes his chin in his hand and forces him to lock eyes.

"I'm fine," Sherlock says. "But I'm not going back into my bedroom tonight."

"No, of course not." Mycroft says. "You can stay in our room for as long as you need to. You get to decide whether or not you are going to school tomorrow as well. Greg's going to stay with you, and I'm going to make sure that Eurus gets settled in. Then I'll be back."

"What?" Sherlock says clutching his brother. "You can't go with her! You have to say with me."

Mycroft gives a torn look toward Greg. Maybe he really is doing the wrong thing, although it had felt like the right thing a few minutes ago when it had been Eurus wrapped around him.

"Nope, you each get to have one adult right now," Greg says. "The boys have me, and Eurus gets Mycroft. He's just going to make sure that she gets back to where she’s supposed to be."

Mycroft gives his brother one more squeeze, and then pulls away from him. "Sherlock, I understand that you want me to say with you, but that is different than you needing me. If you need me I would stay here in a second, but you've got Greg, and that's all you need. That frees me up to go take care of what Eurus needs, okay?"

Sherlock's fingers cling to him for a bit longer, but Mycroft meets with less resistance as he pulls himself away from the grip.

Eurus is clearly surprised when he actually returns. The door is opened for him, and he goes into the backseat. His sister looks at him nervously, clearly looking for more comfort, and he opens up his arms to give her the invitation to take it.

She lets out a sigh when he hugs her. "Mycroft, sometimes I wonder what I would have become if you were my parent instead of the ones that I got."

Mycroft closes his eyes, finding it hard for the first time in his entire life to doubt his own worth when she is looking at him with such gratitude and relief in her face.

"I love you, Eurus," he says. The literal word of 'love' is still hard for Mycroft. It feels foreign and strange on his tongue, but he's beginning to become more familiar with it. He lets it fly from his mouth when he is talking to Sherlock and Oliver because he doesn't want them to grow up not knowing what it feels like to have someone say that to them. He says it to Greg,. Actually, Greg was the first person he ever said it to.

Mycroft's never said it to Eurus before. She tried to kill him, and he doesn't even know quite what it would mean for him to forgive her for that. But he does know that he is beginning to move past the trauma he suffered in order to be the person that she needs.

She looks at him in shock, and it is clear that she doesn't believe him yet.

"I love you," he repeats, and then she falls into his arms, and there are tears. He rubs her back, and he keeps saying it. Every single time he repeats it it’s is clear that his sister is closer to believing him.

They visit the police station first for booking and bureaucracy, and then she is taken back to the place she's been living for the past eight months, who, just as Eurus had thought, had not even noticed she was missing. They get her to tell the whole story about how she got out, and there is a plan formulated to prevent it from happening again.

Mycroft argues them away from firing the poor guard who had unwittingly been a part of it, and Mycroft makes a note of when they will have a sort of trial for her so that he can come and argue on her behalf. Before he leaves he tucks her in just like he has done to his brother every day since the boy came to live with him. He kisses her on the forehead and tells her that he loves her again.

Mycroft takes a taxi back to the flat and lets himself into the house. Then he tiptoes to the bedroom. Greg is awake, and he has an arm wrapped around each of the sleeping boys.

Greg takes one look at him, and slowly, and carefully extracts himself from the hands. They walk into the corner of the bedroom, and Greg wraps his arms around him. "Everything okay?" he whispers.

"Yes, she's safely back. I don't think she'll try something like that anymore. Consequences haven't been discerned yet, but I think they are going to be fairly reasonable."

"You okay?" Greg asks, holding him closer.

Mycroft takes a long slow breath. "Yes, it was a bit intense."

"Just a bit?," Greg says, half laughing and gripping him tighter. "You did really good today. That was A+ parenting!"

Mycroft lets out a short sob.

"You did amazing," Greg encourages. "Really."

"I am never sure that I can parent," Mycroft says. "But I think I did something right today. I...told her that I loved her. I probably should have done it a long time ago. I tell it to Sherlock and Oliver all the time, and that's easy. For Eurus it was hard…it was hard to mean it."

"Well, honey, you can't really blame yourself for that. After all she did try to kill you, and did actually kill your parents."

"Thank you for being here with me. God, I honestly don't know what I would have done if you weren't! How could I have protected the other kids and still have been there for Eurus?"

"You would have figured it out. You have figured out a lot harder things since you became a parent," Greg says, rocking him back and forth in a hug.

"I think we need to get a bigger house," Mycroft observes. "We need more bedrooms."

"If you think we're getting these two out of our bedroom any time soon you've got another thing coming," Greg tells him with a chuckle.

"Right, and maybe not right now. But...it might be nice to have two more rooms. One of them we can use for John now when he has to stay over, and later on it can be Eurus's room when and if she came to live with us. The other room..."

Greg tilts his head at him. "You want to adopt again?"

"Is it too soon? It is probably pretty foolish that I am thinking about having more children when we had such a disaster today...." Mycroft says.

"Maybe soon," Greg agrees. "I've got a longing for our family to be whole too, and we're not quite there yet."

"But it's so much better than I ever thought it was going to be. This life we have built together, Greg, you have no idea how amazing it is, and it's all due to you."

"No, both of us, together, you've got to start giving yourself credit, my love," Gregs says, kissing his cheek and pulling away. The space between the boys has disappeared since Sherlock rolled towards his brother, closing the gap. Greg and Mycroft lay down on either side of them and then, with a grin, they unite their hands over the boys backs.

**Author's Note:**

> Mycroft's Asperger's and anxiety took me by surprise, although after looking over my outline I really don't think it should have. As a non-autistic person (though I cannot call myself neurotypical by any stroke of the imagination) please correct me if you are autistic and think I did it wrong. I have anxiety myself, but it's not exactly like Mycroft's. A few disclaimers for this story:  
> 1\. Mycroft is only one example of someone on the spectrum. He's certainly not a "typical" example (as if one exists). His sensory overloads (or, as Mummy dubs them, “tantrums”) are possibly more panic attacks as Greg suspects.  
> Please don't take Mummy or Mycroft's word on his "tantrums" as it's not kind or correct.  
> 2\. This story is about Mycroft's emotional growth. This is NOT a story about his Asperger's being cured (although he certainly tries in the beginning.) It's more like one of those stories where Mycroft learns that he was fine the whole time. If it looks like he gets "better" as the story goes on that's due to moving from an environment which is hostile to the neurodivergent to one which is welcoming to it.  
> 3\. Mycroft is entering his first romantic relationship at 20, which is not unique for someone on the spectrum. This does not mean that Mycroft is immature. His sexuality is a few years behind the typical, but he is not.  
> 4\. I say that Mycroft has Asperger's. The story will not. That is a result of the time period in which this story is written (beginning in 1989) and his (over) coping skills would have not resulted in him being diagnosed.  
> 5\. Mycroft is lonely in this story. That's more a factor of his dysfunctional family than his autism. Also, I want to put a disclaimer in here for family members and or teachers of autistic people. Please never assume that someone is lonely unless they tell you they are, even if they do not socialize. I've had a lot of my students on the spectrum want help in making friends, but I always ask now if that's something they want. Many don't. I'll never forget my efforts during my first year of teaching to 'help' a girl with autism who spent her recess walking in circles. One day she snapped at me, 'Why do teachers always want me to be unhappy?" School and socializing were difficult for her. Walking circles on the playground was easy and fun.  
> 6\. This particular fanfiction Mycroft is on the autism spectrum. That doesn’t mean the Mycroft in the BBC show is, although once I decided his umbrella spin was a stim (behavior people with autism spectrum behaviors do to calm down and or while experiencing positive emotions) I’m not completely convinced that he’s not. It certainly makes more sense than saying that Sherlock has Asperger’s as the BBC Greg and John so casually do in front of him without including him in the conversation.


End file.
